

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 






































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t 


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THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 





The Long, Long Trail 


A Western Story 


BY 

GEORGE OWEN BAXTER 

Author of “Free Range Lanning,” “Donnegan.” 



CHELSEA HOUSE 
79 Seventh Avenue New York City 









Copyright, 1923 
By CHELSEA HOUSE 


The Long, Long Trail 






» 

(Printed in the United States of America) 

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign 
languages, including the Scandinavian. 


SEP 19 '23 

©Cl A7 5903 7 

■%» nr 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Rich Rancher.II 

II. Playing Seconds.22 

III. The Proposal ....... 32 

IV. The Encounter 41 

V. Queer Trails.49 

VI. Opposites.53 

VII. The Two Geldings.61 

VIII. Questioned.67 

IX. Still Waters.74 

X. The Counter Attack .... 81 

XI. Pursuit.88 

XII. A Telling Tale.95 

XIII. Daring the Posse.102 

XIV. The Lucky Shot.108 

XV. Added Danger.115 

XVI. The Way Out.122 

XVII. When Everything Was Quiet . 129 

XVIII. The Appeal.136 

XIX. The Offer.141 

XX, Terms.148 

XXI, Betrayed . . ,.155 


vi 




















vii 

CONTENTS ' 


CHAPTER 

1 

PAGS 

XXII. 

The Show-down ... . . . , . 

162 

XXIII. 

Catastrophe ....... 

I69 

XXIV. 

Punished. 

176 

XXV. 

Behind the Bars. 

I84 

XXVI. 

The Sporting Spirit .... 

191 

XXVII. 

When Opportunity Knocked . 

198 

XXVIII. 

The Attempt. 

205 

XXIX. 

Pursuit. 

212 

XXX. 

The Rancher’s Decision . . . 

219 

XXXI. 

The Feud. 

227 

XXXII. 

Closing In. 

234 

XXXIII. 

Bribed. 

242 

XXXIV. 

The Spy. 

249 

XXXV. 

Cornered—-Almost. 

256 

XXXVI. 

The Power of Personality . . 

264 

XXXVII. 

Taking Sides. 

27I 

XXXVIII. 

Mary Rides. 

273 

XXXIX. 

The Unknown Pursuer . . . 

279 

XL. 

The Landslide. 

286 

XLI. 

Uphill and Down Dale . . . 

293 

XLII. 

Inside the Shack. 

300 

XLIII. 

The Obstinate Sheriff . . . 

307 

XLIV. 

Side by Side ...... f 

3 H 
















J 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

CHAPTER I 

THE RICH RANCHER 

ITE was popularly nick-named Morg, and it may 
* be understood that strangers were apt to spell 
the name Morgue; yet his full name, as he signed 
it on the day of his wedding and never again, before 
or after, was Morgan Algernon Valentine. Some 
one discovered that hidden and forbidden signature 
and once addressed the rancher as Algie, and the 
result was a violent accident. 

Yet Morgan Valentine was a peaceful man. He 
was one of those who accomplish romantic results 
in an everyday manner. Banish his mountains from 
his horizon, and he would have been a wretched 
man, and yet when he thought about the moun¬ 
tains at all, it was only to remember the trails 
that netted them and the sweat of the hard 
climbs. His labor in life had been noble and was 
apt to prove enduring. Thirty years before—he 
and his brother, John, followed the Crane River, 
where it splits through the higher mountains, and 
comes out upon the lower, rolling hills on the farther 
side—it occurred to John Valentine, who was the 
dreamer of the family, that the slopes might not be 
too steep to preclude cultivation with the plow! and 
though the regions of the hill crests were a jagged 
soil, much broken by rocks, there might be enough 


12 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


grass to graze cattle on. Five minutes later he was 
painting a picture of the house which might be 
built there—one for Morgan and one for John, on 
opposite sides of the Crane River. There they could 
live in eyeshot, each with a broad domain separated 
by the arrowy, yellow waters of the Crane. There 
was ample room for both—a hundred thousand acres 
of hill and valley land. 

And still another five minutes found John Valen¬ 
tine already tired of his dream and ready to spur 
on. But Morgan would not stir. There he resolved 
to pitch his tent. And though John tried valiantly 
to dissuade him, the tent was pitched and the two 
brothers remained. Forthwith, the empire which 
John had seen, the younger brother proceeded to 
build. Who are the greater men—the empire seers 
or the empire makers? At any rate the thing was 
done; front to front, a couple of miles apart, and 
with the noisy river splitting the landscape in the 
middle, rose the two houses. The house of John 
Valentine was planned as a nobly proportioned struc¬ 
ture, and though it had never progressed beyond the 
columns of the entrance and the first story of the 
original, it was nevertheless beautiful even in the 
piece. On the other hand, practical Morgan Valen¬ 
tine built himself a plain shack and gradually ex¬ 
tended it. Now it stumbled up the hills on either 
side, big enough to shelter a whole clan of Valen¬ 
tines and their supporters. 

From which it may be gathered that John Valen¬ 
tine lived his life as Byron wrote his poems—he 
leaped once, tigerlike, and if he failed in the first 
attempt, or grew weary of labor, he was off to 


THE RICH RANCHER 


13 


fresh fields and pastures new. He was the sort of 
man of whom people can easily expect great things; 
he could have sat on a throne; he could have painted 
pictures or written verse or made shoes for his 
own horses; but in accomplishment he was con¬ 
tinually falling short. But Morgan Valentine seemed 
to have reached above his height; people wondered 
at what he had done. Yet perhaps his neighbors 
overlooked this fact: that simplicity may be pro¬ 
found; and though few thoughts came to him 
those he had worked deep into the roots of his 
being. 

For instance, there was only one human being 
whom he had ever truly loved, and that was his 
brother. And when John died, Morgan transferred 
a portion of that love to the orphan daughter of the 
dead man. 

But Morgan's own wife and children were merely 
incidents in his life. 

It is necessary to be so explicit about this Morgan 
Valentine, because, in spite of his simplicity, this 
narrative could never have been written were it 
not that he did some astonishing things. Indeed, 
so unusual were some of the things that he 
did, that one is tempted to add fact to fact so 
that there will be no misapprehension—no ten¬ 
dency to call -him a dream figure. On this 
night he was exactly fifty-one years and three 
months old. He stood five feet nine and three- 
quarter inches and weighed one hundred and eighty 
pounds; he had a gray head and a young, stern 
face; he was slow in speech and agile in movement; 
and at this particular moment he was smoking a 


14 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

stubby corncob pipe on the front porch of his 
house, with his heels cocked upon the top of the 
railing. 

His wife was in bed; the servants dared not 
make a sound in the house even if they were awake; 
the songs and the laughter of the men in the bunk 
house had long since died out; but Morgan Valen¬ 
tine, who slept never more than five hours a night, 
was still wakeful at twelve. 

But if his body waked, his mind slept indeed, 
and only his eye roved lazily through the valley. 
A broad moon, nearing the full, had rolled like 
a wheel up the side of Grizzly Peak, and it 
cast enough light for him to make out the de¬ 
tails of his possessions. In the heart of each 

valley there was the black-plowed land in narrow 
strips—incredibly rich loam; and over the rest of 
the unfenced ground wliere the cattle ranged, the 
moon flashed here and there on a bit of out¬ 

cropping quartz, or twinkled along a line of new- 
strung barbed wire. But far and wide, over the 

neighboring hollows, all to his right was his, over 

range after range of hills, rocking away toward a 
dim horizon. And looking straight ahead all was 
his to the silver streak of the river. Indeed, this 
was little more than an imaginary boundary, for 
though the great district beyond belonged to his 
niece, it would be, by all prospects, many and many 
a year before Mary Valentine was married, and 
until such a time, he was the executor, his will was 
law through all the rich region of that valley. 

No wonder that the bowl of the pipe tilted up 


THE RICH RANCHER 


15 

as he set his teeth, and he was filled with the solid 
sense of possession. 

Into his quiet thought beat the swift tattoo of a 
horse coming across the valley road; it rounded the 
hill, and at once the hoof beats rang loudly through 
the night with the speed of the fugitive—the speed 
of the pursuer—the speed of anger, perhaps. Now 
the horseman lurched into view, a black form, with 
a black shadow trailing beside it over the white 
road. Straight up to the front of Morgan Valen¬ 
tine’s house; then out of the saddle with a leap; 
then heavy heels and ringing spurs of the high flight 
of steps. He caught sight of the figure of Morgan. 

“Morgan Valentine?” he called. 

Now, midnight hushes voices and makes men 
walk lightly, but the ring in this question was un¬ 
controlled, as if the fellow had a right to waken 
the entire house if he felt so inclined. 

“Gus Norman?” queried the rancher, rising. 

“That’s me!” 

He came along the porch more slowly now, with 
the slowness of one who deliberates and prepares 
words. But when he came close, the calmness of 
Morgan Valentine snapped his self-control, and 
he burst out: “Valentine, it’s got to stop!” 

“What’s got to stop?” 

“That—that girl!” 

He turned his head as he spoke mechanically and 
looked across the shining strip of the Crane River 
toward the unfinished house of John Valentine which 
stood on the crest of a hill, white under the moon, 
and with a solemn, Doric beauty. 

“What girl?” persisted Valentine obtusely. 


16 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“What girl? Mary Valentine; your niece! That’s 
what!” 

“Stop? How stop?” 

“Stop her from going about—man-killing-” 

“What!” 

“That’s what it amounts to. It’s murder, Valen¬ 
tine!” 

The ugly word came out with an ugly oath be¬ 
hind it, and the change in Valentine was instant. 

“Seems to me,” he observed in his unhurried man¬ 
ner, “that you’re talking kind of foolish, Norman. 
Suppose I give you a minute to think that over 
and then say it again!” 

The other shifted his position a little; but he 
rushed on with his speech of accusation. 

“I don’t need no minute, nor nothing like it. 
My boy is lying home, bleeding; that’s why I’m 
here talking to you now. What I got to say won’t 
keep. He’s shot down, and it’s her that has it 
done!” 

For a time the glance of Valentine traveled 
gravely np and down the form of the other. 

At length he said quietly: “I’d sort of hate to 
have mother woke up with news like this; mind 
talking sort of soft?” 

“There’s no use talking soft,” said the other, 
but nevertheless he lowered his voice. “The whole 
world is finding out things about Mary Valentine, 
my friend, and the whole world won’t be talking 
in a soft voice about what it knows.” 

“Ah?” murmured Valentine. Suddenly his tone 
changed. As though the idea had just filtered 
completely home in his brain. 



THE RICH RANCHER 17 

“Now, what the devil d’you mean by that, Nor¬ 
man ?” 

“I ain't here to argue with you. I’m here to 
point out facts. My boy is shot down; your son 
Charlie is the one that done it. How d’you ex¬ 
plain it?” 

“By the fact that your boy, Joe, ain’t as handy 
with his gun as my boy, Charlie. That’s a tolerably 
clear explanation, I figure.” 

“Tolerable clear for some, maybe, but it ain’t the 
fact. The hand that held the gun was Charlie’s; 
but the mind that directed it was Mary Valen¬ 
tine’s.” 

“All these here remarks,” declared Valentine, “is 
considerable compromising, which maybe I’ll be ask¬ 
ing for more talk later on. But now, keep right on. 
Charlie shot Joe, but you say that Mary had a hand 
in it? Where’s Mary now?” 

“She’s taking care of Joe; your boys, Charlie and 
Louis is both there, too; up at my house.” 

“She’s taking care of Joe?” echoed Valentine. 

“Listen, Morg, while I go back a ways in this 
story. You remember that there was a dance last 
Saturday night at Dinneyville?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Anyway, there was. Well, did Mary say any¬ 
thing to you the day after that dance about her and 
my boy, Joe?” 

“She didn’t.” 

“Then, sir, she knows how to keep a lot to her¬ 
self. But Joe had something to say to me on Sun¬ 
day. He says: 'Dad, I’m the luckiest gent on the 
ranges. I’m going to marry Mary Valentine.’ I 


i8 the long, long trail 

was struck all of a heap by hearing that. But Joe 
tells me that they can’t be no mistake. She d as 
good as promised to be his wife. He’d never 
knowed her much before the night at that dance. 
But he took a liking to her -right off; and it seemed 
she done the same by him. He smiled at her, she 
smiled right back. It kind of went to his head. He 
started talking to her real serious; and she seemed 
just a wee bit more serious than him. Well, she 
scarce danced with anybody but him the rest of the 
night, and when he come home the next morning 
after the dance he was like drunk. Couldn’t think, 
couldn’t talk of nothing but how beautiful Mary 
Valentine was and how quick he was going to marry 
her; couldn’t hardly wait to get started with an out¬ 
fit of his own. 

“I spoke to my wife about it. The old woman 
didn’t say nothing. She just grinned at me. Pretty 
soon she allows that it’s all right. But maybe Joe 
had better make sure of the girl before he got out 
any wedding license. That sounded like funny talk 
to me, but I didn’t pay no attention. 

“Well, along comes the dance at Salt Springs 
schoolhouse to-night. My boy goes over. He don’t 
see nothing nor speak to nobody until he sees Mary 
Valentine come in. Then he goes straight for her. 

“Then something mighty queer happened. They 
was another man with her. His name was Henry 
Sitterley; Hank Sitterley’s boy. And when Joe goes 
up to her and starts talking sort of foolish, the way 
a boy will when he’s in love, she looks right through 
him. Acts the way she’d hardly ever met him before. 
And pretty soon she goes dancing off with young 


THE RICH RANCHER 


19 


Sitterley, and Joe can see her talking to him and 
knows that she’s making a mock out of him—my 
son! 

“Well, it gets into Joe’s head and starts him see¬ 
ing red, and it gets into his heart and starts his heart 
aching. He don’t think it’s really no ways possible. 
He waits till the dance is over. He tries to see her 
ag’in. But she sees him coming and slips away into 
the crowd and laughs back at him. 

“Then it comes into Joe’s head that she’s jilting 
him, and-” 

“Wait a minute,” broke out Valentine. “Did she 
promise to marry him that other Saturday night?” 

“They’s other ways of promising things than with 
words, friend Valentine. She sure promised Joe 
with her eyes and her smiles and her sighs. So 
when she give him the go-by like that to-night he 
mighty near went crazy. He goes out into the hall 
where they was some of the other boys standing 
smoking, and there he busts out with something 
about Mary being a flirt. 

“Quick as a wink, your boy Charlie takes him up 
—like a bulldog, he was, Joe says. Besides, Joe was 
too mad and sad not to fight it out. First thing 
you know, guns is pulled-” 

“Who pulled his gun first?” cut in Valentine, 
snapping his words. 

“ Joe ”. .1 

Valentine sighed. 

“Joe pulled his first, and Charlie beat him to the 
draw. But here’s the point. Your girl starts flirt¬ 
ing with my boy; she gets him so he can’t sleep for 
a week, thinking about her—and then when she meets 




20 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

him ag’in she don’t know him, or lets on that she 
don’t. 

“Then my boy says something he shouldn’t of 
said; they’s a fight; he gets shot through the arm— 
thank Heaven it wasn’t no worse!—and I tell you 
that it was Mary that had him shot, and not Charlie 
Valentine! Because why? Because when Mary and 
Charlie drive my boy back home in their buckboard 
and while they’re fussing over him, and after Joe 
has told me what happened, I go to my wife and 
tell her I think Joe was crazy the first time he seen 
Mary. He was crazy with love—calf love. But she 
just grins at me. 'Why,’ she says, 'don’t you know 
she’s the worst flirt in the country?’ 

“And that’s why I’m here, Valentine. Two inches 
more to one side and that bullet would of gone 
through my boy’s heart. And the murderer would 
of been your girl, Mary. Valentine, I’m new to 
the country; I don’t know your folks nor your ways, 
but I know that in the part of the country that I 
come from a girl like that ain’t allowed to run 
around loose. She’s kept up close, and if her dad 
can’t look after the way she handles her eyes and 
her smiles, then her ma goes along to watch out for 
her; and if her ma can’t do it, then she ain’t allowed 
to go out where they’s young men to be made fools 
of and their hearts broke, if it don’t come to no 
other thing. I’m a tolerable reasonable man, Valen¬ 
tine, and that bullet wound don’t amount to> nothing. 

“Two weeks, and it’ll be all healed up; but what 
if it had struck two inches away? So I come here 
straight to you and say, 'Something has got to be 
done?’ I leave it to you, what.” 


THE RICH RANCHER 


21 


During the latter part of this talk Morgan Val¬ 
entine had abased his head and stared at the floor 
of the veranda, but now he raised his head, and even 
through the shadow the other could see the black 
frown on the forehead of the rich rancher. 

“You got a reason for your talk, Norman,” he 
admitted. “Now step inside and I’ll tell you just 
how this matter stands. You ain’t the first that’s 
had cause to complain. I wish you could be the last; 
but come on inside and we’ll talk.” 


CHAPTER II 

PLAYING SECONDS 


B UT Gus Norman shook his head. 

“In my part of the country,” he said stub¬ 
bornly, “we like to talk in the open air; it keeps us 
cool.” 

“Not a half bad idea. But before we start talk¬ 
ing serious, maybe you’ll tell me just what you’re 
aiming to do?” 

“I’m aiming to keep out of bad trouble, Valen¬ 
tine. I don’t like trouble; I’m a peaceable man; but 
I ain’t the only Norman around here. They’s a 
lot of us and some of ’em take this shooting sort 
of to heart. They want blood for blood. My 
brother and my nephew are at my house, and they 
want action. But I talked to ’em and told ’em to 
keep quiet till I come back.” 

The other considered his visitor gravely in the 
dim light. Short time though this clan of Normans 
had been in the mountains, they had established a 
name for bulldog ferocity in fighting. 

“Look over yonder,” he said at length. “You 
see that house?” 

“Yep. What has that to do with it?” 

“A whole pile. That’s the house my brother 
built. He started building it and stopped halfway. 
All through his life he was starting things and stop¬ 
ping halfway. Well, Norman, his girl, Mary, is the 
same way. She’s always starting things and stop- 


PLAYING SECONDS 


23 


ping when they’re halfway done. When she was 
a youngster she was a regular tomboy. Doing every¬ 
thing that my kids did. When Charlie first got 
interested in guns, she started practicing, too; and 
she got so she could beat Charlie with a light rifle 
or a light revolver. She’s still almost as good as 
Louis, but she got tired of fooling with guns in a 
couple of months. Same way with hosses. Long 
as a colt was a wild one, she’d go riding every 
day and fight it. But as soon as the hoss got tame 
she was done with it. And it’s the same way with 
men. She’s interested in every strange man that 
she meets. Shows ’em that she’s interested, and 
thinks they’re the finest in the world until they begin 
to think she’s in love with ’em. But after a while 
she gets tired of ’em. Now d’you understand about 
her, Norman?” 

The other shook his head and growled: “Guns 
is one thing and hosses is another; but my boy is 
something more’n either; and he’s got to be treated 
human.” 

“D’you aim to make me force Mary to marry 
him?” asked the other calmly. 

“I ain’t forcing my boy on no girl. Speaking 
without no offense, Valentine, I wouldn’t have your 
girl in my family. But I think you ought to keep 
her in hand. They’s other young men in my fam¬ 
ily. Maybe another’ll fall in love with that girl 
when she makes eyes at ’em. And then there may 
be another fight. And the next time it may be your 
boy that gets drilled. Luck is always changing. But 
if she was my girl, I’d use the whip, Valentine.” 


24 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

For some reason Valentine smiled at this, but the 
darkness covered the expression. 

“The/s another side to her,” he said gently. 
“She’s a true-blue girl, Norman. No malice in her. 
Keeps to her friends. Plays square—every way 
except where some strange young gent is concerned, 
and then she runs amuck with her eyes and her 
smiles, just as you say. What can I do? Whip? 
Why, she’d murder me and then kill herself out of 
shame and spite if I so much as touched her. Don t 
you suppose I’ve thought of this before? Haven t 
I got most of the people around here down on me 
because of the way Mary has treated the boys, one 
time or another? Ain’t she always making trouble 
for me? And ain’t my boys in peril of their lives 
because she keeps making places where they got to 
fight for her sake and their own?” 

“Then send her away.” 

“Ah, man, blood has got a feeling for blood! 
Can I turn out my brother’s daughter?” 

The other was silent for a moment, breathing 
hard. He was a wild-looking man, with unshaven 
face and a beard that began at his eyes and ran 
ragged until it terminated in a shaggy point beneath 
his chin. He was a lean, hard man, and he had 
reddish eyes as bright as the eyes of a ferret and 
as restless. 

“The day’ll come when you’ll have sorrow in your 
home for keeping this girl here,” he announced 
gloomily. “The day’ll come when you’ll wish you’d 
sent her off.” 

“She’s been away to school, man, but nothing 
changed her.” 


PLAYING SECONDS 


25 


“Some time, Valentine, she’ll find a man that’ll 
be her master. Mark me when I say it. And when 
that man comes, she’ll go to him and foller him 
whether he be good or bad. If she could find a 
hoss that would never be safe under the saddle, 
she’d never want to ride nothing but that hoss, I 
figure; and when she finds a man that won’t pay 
no attention to her, she’ll be following that man, 
Valentine, you mark my word. She’ll love the man 
that laughs at her; she’ll follow the man that runs 
from her; she’ll kneel to the man that beats her.” 
He paused again. 

For Morgan Valentine had shifted so that the 
moonlight struck abruptly across his face, painting 
the wrinkles and his frown black and making the 
rest deadly white. He stood with his jaw set; and 
through the shadow of his brows the eyes glittered. 
He spoke nothing, but Gus Norman saw enough to 
make him wince back a step. He put out his hand 
in a conciliatory gesture. 

“I don’t wish her no unhappiness and I don’t 
speak out of no malice. I ain’t come to talk hard, 
neither, nor to make no threats. But I’m here to 
put my case in front of you. You got a big repu¬ 
tation around these parts, Valentine, for being a 
square shooter. Put yourself in my boots and figure 
out what you’d do. My folks are a tolerable tem- 
pery lot, and they’re a pile cut up about this fracas; 
but I’m holding ’em back. I don’t want ’em to run 
foul of Charlie; most of all I don’t want ’em to 
1 run foul of you. Think over what I’ve said. Good 
night.” 

He turned on his heel, strode across the veranda. 


26 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


went down the steps, and once more sent his horse 
up the road. 

Before he disappeared into the moon haze Valen¬ 
tine was walking up and down the veranda with 
a short, quick step. And of all the people in the 
world only his wife, no doubt, could have read the 
meaning behind his manner. Only his wife did 
know it; for the loud voice of Norman had wak¬ 
ened her in her room just over the veranda, and 
she had gone to her window. From it she had 
overheard the conversation, and now she knew the 
meaning of that pacing, that short, quick, decisive 
step. She gathered her dressing gown about her, 
put her feet in slippers, and hurried downstairs. 
Her husband was coming in just as she reached 
the lowest range of the stairs, and she paused with 
her hand on the rail. It was a lovely hand in spite 
of her forty-five years and the hard labor which 
had been hers during the early part of her mar¬ 
ried life. Her slippered foot, too, would have been 
the pride of a debutante; and the dressing robe flut¬ 
tered about her in graceful lines. She was still 
beautifully formed; her skin retained its glow and 
purity of texture. But cover her hands with win¬ 
ter gloves, her feet with boots, her body with a 
heavy coat, and Maude Valentine became a homely 
farmer’s wife. There had been a fine spirit in her 
face, but never beauty; and now that the grace and 
hope of youth was gone there remained only the 
lines of the unloved wife and the unheeded mother 
of ^ two wild sons and one headstrong daughter. 

Are you up, mother?” he asked from the hall 
beneath. 



PLAYING SECONDS 


27 


“I couldn’t sleep, Morgan.” 

“Read a bit; then you’ll sleep.” 

“I wish to talk to you just a little minute, Mor¬ 
gan,” she replied. Her voice had the gentleness of 
long sorrow. 

“Come on into the library, then.” 

They went into the big room ranged high with 
books; for John’s library had been brought here 
after his death, and it was a rare collection. How 
few had been opened since his hand last touched 
them! 

“Are you warm, mother?” 

She looked up at him quickly as she slipped into 
the big chair, a furtive glance. For one brief mo¬ 
ment at the time of their marriage—whether it were 
a matter of days or weeks did not count—she had 
felt that he loved her truly, with a fire concealed 
by his customary self-restraint. And ever since those 
passionate days of happiness she had been probing 
him with these half-frightened glances in search of 
the vanished tenderness. And though she lived with 
him a hundred years there would still be a hope in 
her heart. But he was hardly glancing at her now 
as he asked the question, and settling back into the 
chair she smiled at him a still and quiet smile; for 
pain may take on the gentlest seeming. 

“Now, mother, what is it?” 

“I guess maybe I shouldn’t have said that I 
couldn’t sleep. It was Gus Norman’s voice that 
waked me up.” 

“He talks like a roaring bull. Some of these 
days maybe a ring’ll be put through Norman’s nose 
and he’ll be led about!” 


28 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“I heard all he said.” 

“Well?” 

At his carelessness she fired a trifle. 

“And I heard that Charlie shot a man!” 

“His third man. He’s starting well.” 

“Morgan Valentine, do you know what lies ahead 
of your son one of these days ? Murder! I’ve 
seen him getting angry in the house and reach natu¬ 
ral for his hip. And some day he’ll get in trouble 
—and shoot—and kill!” 

Her voice had raised very little, but her chang¬ 
ing expression answered a similar purpose. Indeed, 
Morgan Valentine looked sharply at her, so aston¬ 
ished was he by any variation in her monotone. 

“He’s sowing his wild oats, that’s all. No cause 
for worry.” 

“He’s never worried you , Morgan.” There was 
a bitter emphasis on the pronoun. “None of your 
children have. Seems like you don’t care, some¬ 
times.” 

The remarkable fact that his wife was actually 
complaining finally reached the understanding of 
Valentine; and now he watched her calmly, wait¬ 
ing. His quiet made her flush. 

“Charlie, nor Liz, nor Louis—they none of them 
worry you, Morgan. You act—you act—as if Mary 
was your daughter, and my children didn’t have 
your blood in ’em!” 

“Mother!” murmured her husband. 

“I ain’t going to make a scene, Morgan,” she 
assured him, and she gathered her robe a little closer 
to her as if to cover her trembling. “I’m just 
going to tell you a few facts. This ain’t the first 


PLAYING SECONDS 29 

time that Mary has made trouble for me and mine. 
She-” 

“You don’t like her, mother. You get a bad light 
in your eyes every time you think of her. I’ve seen 
that for a long while.” 

“I’ve done what’s right for her,” said Mrs. Val¬ 
entine stubbornly. “They ain’t nobody can say I 
haven’t mothered her as much as the wild thing 
would let me—after her father died.” 

Again he was silent, and again the silence spurred 
her on more than words. 

“And here she is paying me back. She’s put¬ 
ting my boys in peril of their lives. That’s what 
she’s doing. And who but her has made my girl 
Liz unhappy?” 

“Why, mother, Mary is always kind to Liz— 
always doing little things for her—taught her to 
ride, taught her to shoot, taught her to dance, 
even!” 

“That’s it. She’s always led the way. Now Liz 
can’t do anything out of her own mind. When 
she’s in trouble she don’t come to her own mother. 
She goes to Mary. If she wants advice, she goes 
to Mary. And half the time—half the time—her 
and Mary has secrets that they’re keeping from me. 
I come on ’em whispering together, and they break 
off as soon as I come. Mary makes a mock of 
me in my own house—with my own boys—my own 
girl!” 

He had taken his pipe from between his teeth. 
He held it now in his stubby fingers until the wisp 
of smoke that curled out of the bowl dwindled. 

“Besides, what is they ahead for Liz? Who’ll 



30 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


she ever have a chance to marry so long as Mary 
is around? Nobody looks at her except because 
they think it might make Mary smile at 'em. At 
parties, they only dance with Liz because maybe 
then Mary’ll dance with 'em. They wouldn’t ask 
Liz except to get Mary. And—and I can’t stand 
it no longer. Ain’t Liz pretty? Ain’t she gentle 
and kind? Ain’t she got winning ways? But as 
long as Mary is here, she’ll have a secondhand life. 
That’s what she’ll have. I’ve watched and watched 
and watched, and my heart was—breaking all the 
time. But I wouldn’t talk until to-night—but now 
I see where things is leading. I see what Mary is 
doing—she’s bringing into my house—murder!” 

Morgan Valentine stirred in his chair. 

“She’s got the w'hole Norman clan worked up 
now. They’ll all be laying for Charlie. That’s the 
kind they are. Hunt like wolves in a pack. And 
they’ll pull down Charlie—and maybe Louis. And 
you’ll stand by and see it all—and do nothing!” 

He expected her to break into tears at this point. 
But when her eyes remained dry he moistened his 
lips and spoke. 

“What d’you want me to do, mother?” 

“Send her away!” 

“Send Mary away? Mother, she’s the last liv¬ 
ing thing that can remind me of John. I can’t 
turn her out. She ain’t fit to be sent away. 
She’s got to have them near her that love her, 
mother.” 

“Men? She’ll always have them.” 

“Now you ain’t playing fair and square. You 
know what I mean.” 


PLAYING SECONDS 


3i 


“You don’t have to send her away alone. Send 
her to her sister in Chicago. Lord knows she’s 
asked to have Mary often enough. She’ll let her 
study music, or something.” 

She left her chair and slipped to her knees be¬ 
fore Morgan Valentine. 

“Don’t do that, mother. Get up, won’t you?” 

“Don’t you see what I want, Morgan? I want 
back all the things that Mary has stole from me— 
.Charlie and Louis and Liz and—you!” 

“Get up, mother. It ain’t right you should kneel 
to me!” 

“But here’s where I stay because I’m begging you 
for my happiness and for my boys and my girl, 
Morgan. Will you answer me?” 

He looked down at her with a gray face, and she 
saw for the first time how deeply this cold man 
loved the girl. The pain of it made her cry out. 

“In all the time we been married, it’s the first 
thing I’ve asked you, Morgan!” 

“Stand up,” said Morgan Valentine. “I’ll send 
Mary away!” 


CHAPTER III 


THE PROPOSAL 

T HE law of compensation works in this manner: 

those who give their hearts to few things give 
in those cases wholly and without reserve. The 
life of Morgan Valentine had been a smooth-flow¬ 
ing river until the death of his brother; that blow 
aged him ten years. From that day until this it 
seemed to him that his life had been a blank, 
and now another blow was to fall. For if the 
girl left him she left him forever. The city 
would swallow her—the city and her new life. He 
might see ber again once or twice, but after the 
parting he would be dead to her and she would be 
dead to him. He set his teeth over the pain and 
smiled into the face of his wife. He raised her 
gently to her feet, and she put her hands timidly 
imploring upon his shoulders. 

“Will you take it to heart a whole pile, Mor¬ 
gan ?” 

“It's for the good of all of us, mother. Eve 
seen that for some time. You see, I been looking 
on Mary as a girl all these days, and here all at 
once she turns the corner on me, and I see that 
she’s a full-grown woman. It kind of beats me. 
But—I guess she’s got to go. This ain’t no sort 
of a country for her. Back where men don’t wear 
guns and where they don’t do more’n raise their 
eyebrows when they get real mad—that’s the place 



THE PROPOSAL 


33 


for Mary to do her campaigning. But she’ll be 
turning these parts around here into a regular bat¬ 
tlefield if she stays.” 

Mrs. Valentine caught her breath with joy. 

“I hoped you’d be reasonable like this, Morg,” 
she murmured. ‘‘But then ag’in I was afraid you’d 
get all gray in the face, maybe, the way you did 
when-” 

“Well?” 

“When John died.” 

“Mary ain’t dying.” 

“Of course not. And it’s for the best. It ain’t 
the first time she’s started trouble, and you know it. 
There was the boys of old Jack White; they got 
into a fight because Mary smiled at Billy one week 
and at young Jack the next. Might have been a 
death if their father hadn’t found them, it’s said. 
Then there was ‘Bud’ Akin who-” 

“Hush, mother. You’re getting all excited. Be¬ 
sides, you ought to be asleep. Now you go back 
to bed and stop worrying.” He stopped. The rat¬ 
tle of galloping horses had topped the hill and was 
rushing down toward the house. The cavalcade 
swept near. 

“Maybe more trouble!” cried the poor woman, 
clasping her hands. 

But as the riders poured past the house a chorus 
of voices and laughter rose. 

“That’s Charlie and Louis and Liz,” cried the 
mother, recognizing all three voices in the chorus. 

“And Mary,” said Valentine. 

“Her, too,” she added shortly, and sent a glance 
at her husband. 




34 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


The horses were put up; the voices grew out 
again; they were racing for the house; a shrill peal 
of laughter; a clatter on the steps—the door flew 
open and a girl sprang in. A flash of black hair 
and eyes and the flushed face, and then laughter 

“You tripped me, Mary!” 

“But I got here first,” she was crying in triumph, 
as a burly youth crowded through the doorway; 
and behind him his brother and sister were coming. 

“Why, mother—you up so late?” asked Charlie. 

And the wonder of this strange event made the 
four faces of the young people grow sober. 

“Now, mother-” cautioned Morgan Valentine. 

“Charlie!” she broke out. “What you been do¬ 
ing? What you been doing?” 

He went to her and tried to take her in his big 
arms, but she fended him off and kept her head 
back to search his face. 

“Some hound has been here talking,” he mut¬ 
tered. 

“It was no worse’n he said?” she queried. “You 
only shot him in the arm?” 

“It was only a scratch,” said Charlie. “He won’t 
know he was touched in a couple of days.” 

“And, oh, Uncle Morgan!” cried Mary Valentine, 
taking his hand in one of hers and waving to big 
Charlie. “You’d have been proud if you’d seen 
him! I’m so proud of him. Joe Norman insulted 
me and Charlie—oh, Charlie, you’re a man!” 

She turned full upon Charlie as she spoke, with 
such joy shining from her face that the boy crim¬ 
soned with happiness. 

“It wasn’t nothing, Mary. Don’t make me feel 



THE PROPOSAL 


35 


foolish,” he stammered; and it was plain to be seen 
that he would venture a thousand times more for 
her sake. And in the background was his brother, 
Louis, with a shadow on his face. As if he, too, 
would have been gladly a part of this ceremony of 
rejoicing and was determining to seize the first 
opportunity that came his way to strike a blow for 
the sake of Mary. But the voice of the mother 
cut in, cold and small, and withered all the happi¬ 
ness at the root. 

“Mary Valentine,” she said, “it’s you that’s been 
drawing my boy into peril. It’s you!” 

“Aunt Maude!” cried the girl, and ran to her; 
but she stopped in the act of taking her hands. 

“Have I deserved it of you, Mary?” whispered 
the older woman. “Ain’t I tried to be kind to you 
and is this the way you pay me back—making mur¬ 
derers out of my sons?” 

“Mother!” cried Charlie. “I won’t stand you 
talking like that! She didn’t.” 

“You see?” said Mrs. Valentine sadly, turning 
to her husband. 

“Charlie, you shut your mouth and keep still,” 
said Morgan Valentine sternly. “Ain’t you got man¬ 
ners with your own mother? Liz, take your mother 
up to bed.” 

The girl was taller than Mary by an inch or 
more and strongly built—as blonde a beauty as 
Mary was dark—yet when she went to her mother 
she turned a glance of appeal upon her cousin, as 
though asking for direction. Mary slipped between 
her aunt and the door to which Elizabeth was lead¬ 
ing her. 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


36 

“If ever you think hard of me, Aunt Maude,” 
she said, “I want you to tell me what it’s about. 
And if ever I’ve hurt you or done you wrong, I’ll 
go down on my knees and beg you to forgive me! 
Tell me now, while your heart’s hot with it!” 

For a moment words trembled on the lips of 
Mrs. Valentine, but, looking past Mary, she saw 
the face of her husband, bowed her head, and hur¬ 
ried from the room. 

“Go to bed,” said Morgan to his two sons. And 
they trooped out in silence, casting back frightened 
glances, not at their father, but at Mary. 

She waved a smiling, careless good night to them, 
but the moment they were gone her bravado van¬ 
ished. She ran to her uncle and caught one of his 
burly hands in both of hers. 

“What have I done?” she whispered. “Oh, what 
have I done?” 

“Speaking personal,” he answered, “I’m hanged 
if I know. Sit down, and we’ll talk about it.” 

They sat down; she was still holding his hand, 
and though he made a faint effort to draw it away, 
she kept it strongly in her own. 

“Aunt Maude—looked—as though—she hated 
me!” 

“Stuff!” 

“But she looked straight into my eyes; and women 
have a way of understanding other women, Uncle 
Morgan!” 

“Ah, girl, there’s the trouble; you’re a woman 
now.” 

“Do you mean that I’ve changed?” 

“I dunno how to put it, Mary.” 


THE PROPOSAL 37 

She cried out softly: “Do you think that Pve 
changed?” 

“I knew your father before you.” 

A little silence fell between them in which both 
of them asked many questions and were answered. 
At length the rancher began speaking again, slowly. 

“If you was a man, Mary, you'd be a fine man. 
But you ain’t a man.” 

She waited. 

“You’re about nine tenths woman, I guess, with 
just enough man in you for spice.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Instead of spice I might say deviltry.” 

“Oh!” 

“I’ve got worse things than this to say to you. 
When you were a girl, Mary, I took all your mis¬ 
chief for granted.” 

“Yes, I’ve been very bad.” 

“Not bad. But you were always hunting for 
action. Same’s a boy does. You got into lots of 
scrapes, but you come out ag’in just the way a boy 
does. But all at once you changed. You come pop 
out of a door one day, and you weren’t a girl any 
more; you were a woman. That was when things 
started to pop. You see, nobody understands a 
woman.” 

“Except you, Uncle Morgan.” 

“Kindly leave me out. I don’t know a thing 
about ’em.” 

“But you know everything about me.” 

“Not a thing, hardly. For instance, I don’t know 
whether you just can’t help making eyes at young 
gents, or whether you do it on purpose.” 


38 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Is that the cause of all the trouble ?” 

She dropped his hand. 

“You see it’s the way I told you. I don’t know 
a thing about you.” 

“Do you believe what people say?” 

“But tell me, aren’t they right?” 

She gasped. 

“I thought so. You’re turned into a man-eater, 
Mary.” 

“I think you’re making fun of me.” 

“Me? Never!” 

“It’s this way: I don’t mean any harm. But when 
I see some boy I’ve never known very well, I just 
can’t help beginning to wonder about him. What 
is he inside? Maybe he has a touch of the fire; 
I always keep hoping that!” 

“What fire?” 

“I—I don’t know.” 

“Well, go on.” 

“Maybe I’ve met him at a dance. The music 
is in my head. He dances well. He doesn’t talk 
much. My imagination begins to work on him. All 
r at once he dawns on me—a new picture—he’s strong, 
brave, gentle, clever—and has the spark of fire. 
I begin to burn with it. I’m happy.” She dropped 
her chin upon her knuckles and stared gloomily into 
the distance. “And that’s all I can say about it.” 

“But mostly you tell him that he’s making you 
happy?” 

“Mostly.” 

“And then what does the man do?” 

“Mostly he says that I’ve made him happy, too. 
Sometimes they start being foolish. They want to 


THE PROPOSAL 


39 


sit in a comer and hold my hand. I don’t like 
that. Or if we walk out of the hall they——” She 
shuddered. “Why do men want to put their arms 
around a girl when they’re happy?” 

“What do you expect them to do?” 

“Why—talk—or be silent—and-” 

“Well?” 

“I don’t know. But mostly they do something 
that makes me despise them before the evening’s 
over. Or if they don’t, then I think about them 
until the next time we meet. And then—every¬ 
thing pops into thin air. They always seem different. 
You understand?” 

“Maybe. It’s just what I thought.” 

“Am I bad, Uncle Morgan?” 

“No, but you need room, honey. I’m going to 
send you away to a big city.” 

“You—send—I won’t go. It’s Aunt Maude! 
She’s never liked me!” 

“Hush, girl!” 

She saw suddenly that his hand was trembling, 
and the sight of his grief struck her cold with awe. 

“In some city,” he went on slowly, “you’ll see 
crowds of clean young fellows. Maybe you’ll get 
over this; or maybe you’ll find a man that’s worthy 
of you. But there ain’t any round here. And I 
know them all. Why, rather than have you marry 
one of these unshaven, thick-headed fellows, I’d 
shoot the man, first! I want you—to marry—a 
gentleman.” 

He spoke this last slowly, hunting for the words. 
She sat with her head bowed. Then she looked 
up to him. 




40 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“You’ll do what I want you to do, Mary?” 

She made a little gesture. He could not tell 
whether it meant yes or no, and all the while there 
was a glimmer in her eyes like the changing colors 
of watered silk. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE ENCOUNTER 

OUT two days later Morgan Valentine bought a 
ticket to Chicago and made his reservations; 
Mary had made up her mind apparently, though not 
half a dozen words had been spoken on the subject 
of her departure since that first night. But the 
next day she was talking of Chicago as though 
all her life had been spent there, and this experience 
in the mountain desert was only an excursion off her 
beaten trails. 

“Between you and me, Uncle Morgan,” she said, 
“why not New York?” 

This, for some reason, had rather staggered him. 
But now that the ticket was bought—dated ahead 
several days—and the step irremediably taken, he 
was easier. He made a short stay in Salt Springs 
that day. After he had the ticket in his wallet, 
he went to the bank and drew out the cash for his 
monthly pay roll. His cow-punchers were numerous 
as befitted the keeping of his big range, but more¬ 
over there were the hired men who worked the 
cultivable ground, and in the northern part of his 
domain—the territory of his dead brother—there 
was a small logging outfit. Altogether, he had some 
thirty men to pay off each month, and the pay roll 
ran around sixteen hundred dollars. He got it all 
in gold coin, and it made a heavy little canvas sack 
—fifteen pounds, or so. It was three in the after- 


42 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

noon before his buckskins jogged out of Salt Springs 
on the back trail of the twenty-five mile trip, and 
though the going was fairly smooth most of the 
way, it would be dark before he arrived. 

That, however, was a small worry to him. The 
two geldings were sure-footed as goats; and, given 
their own sweet way and a shambling trot, they 
could take the buckboard home in rain or shine, 
through the night and the rocks. They had done 
it before, so now Morgan Valentine bunched his 
duster around his shoulders with a shrug, settled 
back into the right-hand corner of the big seat, 
and let the reins hang idly. 

An hour and seven miles dropped behind him, 
and still the buckskins were jolting steadily on. The 
suddenness of their stopping jerked him through 
a thousand miles of dreams back to the cold facts 
of earth. The buckskins had their heads high. And 
just before them was a horseman with a revolver 
pointing between the geldings and straight at the 
head of Valentine. 

He put up his hands with the utmost unconcern. 

“Thanks,” said the stranger. “If you’ve got any 
coin handy about you, you might throw it this way.” 

There was deprecatory gentleness in this—the 
same tone of embarrassment which one uses when 
one asks a stranger for a match, and it made the 
rancher regard the holdup artist with more attention. 
The man sat a down-headed roan, an ugly brute 
which looked undersized in comparison with the 
bandit’s length of limb; for he was a tall man, 
with formidable shoulders. He had long arms, 
also, which appeared extremely capable; and the 


THE ENCOUNTER 


43 

heavy Colt was poised lightly as a feather and 
firmly as a rock. 

He seemed indiscriminately somewhere between 
thirty and forty and might have been at either end 
of this limit. What little hair appeared beneath his 
sombrero was sunburned and dusted to a pale-gray 
brown. He had one of those lean, long faces which 
are thin, through the cheeks and wide through the 
cheek bones and the jaw. He was far from good 
looking; and a very wide mouth and a highly arched 
nose which showed that he clearly belonged in the 
predatory type of mankind, made up a further debit 
on the side of beauty. To complete the impression, 
his eyes were an uninteresting but very intelligent 
gray. In fact, one might say that the color of this 
man was gray; for the rest, he keenly impressed 
Morgan Valentine as being about equal portions of 
sinew and sinew-hard muscle. 

“I suppose,” said Morgan, “that you want my 
gun first ?” 

“I’m getting old, pardner,” admitted the other. 
“I’m forgetting my A B C’s. But-” 

The last word was so explosive that Valentine 
paused with his hand on the way down to his 
weapon. 

“But,” continued the stranger, “guns are things 
that I most generally like to take for myself. Thank 
you just the same.” 

“As you please.” 

He stood up and turned, his hands well above his 
shoulders, while the revolver was removed from 
his holster. 

“Which I’m acting like a fool amachoor,” the 


44 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


bandit was saying apologetically, “and pretty soon 
you’ll begin to be ashamed of being robbed.” 

He skidded the weapon into the back part of the 
buckboard. 

“Now you can sit down ag’in, pardner.” 

Valentine accepted the invitation. At close hand, 
he found that the stranger lived fully up to his 
first impression. He was, indeed, a grim-faced 
fellow. Only his voice, which was of the most 
exquisite and tender softness, counteracted the gen¬ 
eral effect. 

“Now, if you’ll gimme your kind attention just 
a minute, sir,” went on the tall man, “I want to 
explain that holding a gun is plumb tiring to a 
gent of my nature that hates work. So I’m going 
to put it back in the leather. But here and there 
I’ve met curious gents that wanted to see just how 
quick that gun could come out of its house ag’in 
and say how’d you do. So they’ve let me take a 
gun off their hip, and then they’ve sprung a sur¬ 
prise by fetching out some little token of affection 
from under a coat or a shirt—say a knife, or a 
derringer. And them that have tried my gun have 
most generally found it right there on the job and 
talking business.” 

So saying, he slipped his weapon into its holster. 

“I think I follow your meaning,” said Valentine. 
“Which I’m tolerable quick to do when men talk 
sense.” 

He added: “Here’s the coin.” And he kicked 
the canvas sack so that it jingled at the touch. “I 
have some in my wallet if that ain’t enough to 
satisfy you.” 


THE ENCOUNTER 


45 


At this the stranger smiled gently upon him. 

“They’s one part of my heart that's an aching 
void sure enough," he declared, “and that's the 
part where a plumb reasonable man fits in. Pardner, 
you seem to be it. Nope, I don’t want your wallet, 
I guess. That is"—and here he lifted the canvas 
sack and weighted it in his hand—“that is, if this 
here talk is gold talk." 

Now, when he lifted the sack and held it lightly 
at arm’s length, Valentine had seen a rippling of 
muscle under the shirt sleeve that fascinated him. 
So he murmured absently: 

“Yes, it’s all gold." 

“Maybe it’s the price of a few bosses you’ve 
just took into town, now?" went on the other 
thoughtfully. 

“Maybe it ain’t," replied Valentine. 

“Yes, and maybe it ain’t. Maybe it’s the cash 
from some little claim you been working for some 
time ?’’ 

“Maybe." 

“To cut it short," said the bandit a little sharply, 
“is this going to bust you or not?" 

“Fifteen hundred dollars is quite a bit," observed 
Morgan Valentine. “Took me three years to make 
that much.” 

“Three years’ work in this bag?" 

“Yes." 

The gray eyes puckered and gathered, and a gleam 
went out of them, but Valentine withstood the stare. 
At this, the outlaw stepped back and glanced over 
the equipage swiftly. 

“Judging by that harness and the way them hosses 


46 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

is set up, I reckon I can put that down safe as the 
granddaddy of all the lies I've heard lately.” 

“You forget,” said Valentine, “that I didn't say 
what three years they were—recent ones or a long 
time back.” 

The other grinned. There was something remark¬ 
ably contagious in his smile; in spite of himself 
Morgan Valentine found his face wrinkling. 

“I dunno why it is,” declared the bandit, “but I 
take to you uncommon strong.” 

“And I think I can begin to say the same about 
you, my friend.” 

“Dear me,” said the outlaw, and the feminine 
expression did not seem at all out of place for 
some reason, “we're getting real friendly, ain’t we?” 

“Seems that way. You’re the first holdup gent 
that’s ever troubled to ask whether or not what he 
took would bust me.” 

“Judging by that maybe I could say that sticking 
you up is one of the favorite sports around these 
parts?” 

“Maybe you could; it used to be.” 

“How many times have you been entertained?” 

“Eight times,” said the rancher. 

“Dear, dear! Who'd of thought you was that 
rich?” 

“The other eight,” said the rancher, “lived in 
these parts and knew the size of my bank account.” 

“Eight times you've left your roll behind you?” 

“Two of them,” replied Valentine, with a glitter¬ 
ing eye, “I shot and buried. Two more I carried 
back to town after I'd bandaged them. Two more 


THE ENCOUNTER . 4 7 

were killed by the posses, and the other two gave 
up before they were salted away.” 

“You don’t tell me!” exclaimed the other, with 
all the happiness of one who hears the ending 
of a pleasant tale. “And maybe this little job will 
gimme more fun than I was looking for.” 

The rancher examined him for a time. 

“No,” he said, “I guess the ninth man will be 
the lucky one.” 

“How comes that guess?” 

“As I said, the others lived in these parts, but 
you’ve come a long way, and you’ll probably go on 
a long ways still.” 

“You talk better’n a riddle,” declared the bandit 
with open admiration. “How d’you know I’ve come 
a long ways?” 

“By the way your hoss is gaunted up; by the 
knot in your handkerchief; and by the look of 
your eyes.” 

“Eyes?” 

“As if you’d been riding into the sun for a good 
many days.” 

“Them are all good signs. But I never heard of 
that last one before now.” 

“Besides,” said the rancher, “you’ve got a pro¬ 
fessional air; I wouldn’t even waste time sending 
the posse after you.” 

“Now, that’s what I call real friendly. You 
wouldn’t even put the sheriff out about me?” 

“Certainly not. Suppose he caught you? He’d 
probably get two or three men knocked in the 
head doing it; and fifteen hundred ain’t worth all 
that bloodshed.” 


48 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“I see you got a kind heart,” said the other 
carelessly. 

“Also, Fve noticed that every real professional 
along your line has a pile of pals. Suppose I get 
you; the word is passed along. One of your friends 
comes and tries his hand with me just to get even. 
You see I ain’t bluffing?” 

“I see you ain’t bluffing,” said the other. He 
flushed and straightened a little. “But if you come 
from my part of the country you wouldn’t say that 
I hunted with any gang. I play a lone hand, 
pardner. I’ve never seen the crook yet that you 
could trust as a friend.” 

There was in this speech such naive and direct 
comment upon the bandit himself that the rancher 
could not forbear a smile. The other replied with 
instant good nature. 

“Which you’ve already said I’m a professional.” 

He dropped the money bag into the saddle pouch. 

“You really work alone?” 

“Why, you can call it that. But I got my gang. 
I got a hoss and a gun, which makes three of us. 
And they’s both been well tried out and not found 
wanting.” 

“No? But that hoss of yours don’t look particular 
like a prize, Mr. -” 

“Dreer,” replied the other quietly, “Jess Dreer.” 

Valentine looked back into his memory. It pre¬ 
sented a blank to him. 

“It’s the right name,” said the other, “but you 
won’t remember it. I’m a quiet man, sir, and I 
got quiet ways.” 



CHAPTER V 

QUEER TRAILS 

A T this Valentine looked him in the eye; after a 
** moment a faint smile came in the eyes of 
the rancher, and the same smile was reflected in the 
eye of the bandit. It was an expression of infinite 
understanding. 

“I am Morgan Valentine,” said the older man 
at length. 

“Mr. Valentine, it’s a pleasure to know you.” 

The rancher extended his hand but the other, 
appearing to be in the act of bowing very lightly 
in a most courtly manner, was apparently unaware 
of the proffered hand, which Valentine presently 
dropped back upon his knee. This time his smile 
broadened, deepened, and struck the corners of his 
mouth full of wrinkles. 

“My hoss, as you say,” went on the bandit, “ain't 
a blue-ribbon winner in a beauty show. But she 
has her points. Step up, Angelina!” 

At this, the mustang lifted a weary head, flattened 
both cars against her neck, and came at once to 
her master. 

“Why, she comes to you like a dog,” said the 
rancher in admiring surprise. 

* “Sure, and she'd sink her teeth in me like a 
dog, if she got a chance. Get back, you she-devil! 
The outsneakingest hoss I ever see, Angelina is, Mr. 
Valentine.” 


50 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

The mustang had, indeed, slipped around to the 
back of Jess Dreer, and her great yellow teeth were 
bared as her upper lip twitched up. And at the 
same time her eyes gleamed with a malevolence that 
made the rancher shiver. He even started up a 
little, but at the threat of Jess Dreer the roan 
shrank away. 

In the meantime her master stood back; always 
keeping an eye upon his holdup victim, he expatiated 
upon the fine points of his mount. 

“She’s got a lumpish head,” he admitted. “And 
her neck ain’t particular full. But look at those 
quarters. And look at those well-set down hocks 
and the way her high withers turns; and see how 
deep-girted she is, though she’s a bit tucked up 
now, as you say. Give me a hoss with plenty df 
bone, and she’s sure got it. Yes, sir, eight years 
Angelina and me has been pals.” 

“Eight years with a man-killer,” said the rancher, 
his interest still growing. “You ought to do very 
well as a lion tamer, Mr. Dreer.” 

“Lions,” declared the outlaw genially, “has 
nothing on Angelina. She’s ripped up my forearm 
with her teeth”—he pointed to part of a white scar 
which ran down beneath the cuff of his shirt al¬ 
most to the palm of his hand—“and she’s nicked 
me with her heels.” He indicated a white scar which 
began at the top of his forehead and furrowed its 
way into his hair. “If she can’t kick she’ll strike, 
and if she can’t strike she’ll bite; and if she’s fooled 
one day she’ll be a lamb for a month and then try to 
murder you in ten ways in ten seconds.” 


5i 


QUEER TRAILS 

He paused and smiled upon the mare with an 
open-hearted affection. 

“Why the devil do you keep her, then?” 

“Partly because, though they’s plenty that can 
outsprint her, I ain’t ever seen anything that can 
keep up with her after the first ten miles. And, 
my work is chiefly long-distance stuff.” 

He confided the last remark to the rancher with 
perfect calm. 

“Personally,” said Valentine, shuddering, “I’ve 
never seen a hoss with so much devil in its face. 
I’d rather have three men with guns behind me 
than that hoss under me.” 

“The chances is about even for me to kill her or 
for her to kill me. Either way, it’s been a good 
fight, and I’ve had a ringside seat.” 

“You’re a queer creature,” the rancher smiled, 
clasping his hands about one knee and rocking back 
in his seat as though he wished to get a more dis¬ 
tant and complete perspective of his new acquaint¬ 
ance. “If I had that mare, the first thing I’d do 
would be to fill her full of lead. I wouldn’t sell 
her any more than I’d sell a man his own death 
warrant.” 

“Sir, she’s a genius; she got her brains from the 
devil. For eight years we’ve been studying each 
other, and we’ve both still got a lot to learn.” 

As he said this, his lower jaw jutted out a little 
and the muscles stood out in hard knots below 
the ears. Morgan Valentine blinked. He had had 
a glimpse of a face of such demoniac cruelty, sudi 
murderous hatred, that he was shaken to the core. 

When he looked again, he saw that the bandit 


52 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


had smoothed his expression again. It was the 
former calm, sad face. 

“I begin to see,” the rancher nodded. “Even a 
nightmare may 'be interesting. Has no one else 
ever ridden her?” 

A shade crossed the face of the outlaw. 

“If any one else ever did,” he said, “I’d give 
her away—or shoot her and leave her for the buz¬ 
zards. A thing that’s mine has got to belong to 
me. Got to be all mine. The reason I can ride 
Angelina and nobody else can, is because I go 
at her in the right way. I get her scared; she don’t 
never know what’s coming next—what I’ve got up 
my sleeve—and so we get along tolerable well. But 
if she ever finds out that I’ve been bluffing her, 
they won’t be enough of me left to put in a box.” 

And so saying, he smiled again genially upon the 
roan; and her ears flattened against her neck. “Well, 
much obliged for the coin and the friendly chat,” 
the outlaw remarked in tones of finality. 

“Wait a minute.” 

Morgan Valentine was rubbing his chin with his 
knuckles. 

“Well?” said the bandit a trifle impatiently. 

“Which way might you be going?” 

The other looked sharply at Valentine and then 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“Over yonder,” he said. 

“That’s the way I’m going, Dreer. Suppose you 
rest your hoss for a spell and come along with me.” 

A gleam of suspicion flashed into the face of the 
bandit, and once again Valentine glimpsed that 


QUEER TRAILS 53 

fathomless, cruel strength of will and insight. Then 
he thought of a way to tempt the big man. 

“They ain’t much to be afraid of,” he said. “My 
gun is in the back of the wagon.” 

“Why,” and Jess Dreer grinned, “this sounds to 
me like a real party.” 

And he sprang instantly into the wagon and sat 
down beside the rancher. 


CHAPTER VI 


OPPOSITES 

M ORGAN VALENTINE concealed his triumph, 
or sought to do so, by busying himself with 
taking up the reins and fastening them between his 
fingers. 

'‘But will your horse follow ?” 

“It took me two years off and on to teach An¬ 
gelina to follow. And I figure that if she lives 
to be two hundred she won’t forget what she’s 
learned,” the outlaw replied. 

Valentine spoke to the two geldings, and they 

struck their collars at the same instant in answer 
to his voice; but at once they settled down to 

their time-honored pace. In the meantime he was 
adjusting himself to his companion. It was plain 
to see that the other had accepted the invita¬ 
tion to ride with his victim simply in the light 
of a dare. Morgan had put himself side by side 
with / a man who had already admitted to several 
killings, and he had allowed that man to choose 
his time and place for an attack. Yet the bandit, 

scorning to sit far to one side or to keep his head 

turned toward Valentine, sat perfectly erect in the 
seat with his eyes fixed far down the road. It was 
not until Valentine, jerking his hand up swiftly 
to his cigarette, had made a definite move that could 
be construed as hostile that his companion showed 
the slightest sign of being on the alert. Even then 


OPPOSITES 


55 


he did not turn 'his head, but Valentine was aware 
of a flash of those gray eyes to the side and a. 
tint of yellow in them. And all at once he knew 
that Jess Dreer was fairly a-tremble with an electric 
watchfulness; that he was concentrating a tre¬ 
mendous energy in keeping aware of his companion, 
and that in the space of a split second he could have 
whirled in his seat and got at the throat of the 
rancher. 

It was not altogether a comfortable feeling for 
Valentine, but in his day he had had to do with 
many a hard man and had even possessed a 
certain name for hardness himself. There were 
few men in that part of the mountain desert who 
would have cared to risk their lives on the speed 
and certainty of their gun play as opposed to the 
speed and certainty of Morgan Valentine. For he 
was a cold-headed man, a cold-blooded man, and 
he fought with the same nerveless accuracy with, 
which he lived, with which he had married, with 
which he had raised his children. The death of 
his brother—the coming departure of his brother’s 
child—these were the emotional landmarks of his 
life. 

Indeed, it was a sense of loneliness, of lack of 
food to fill his mind and his heart that had made 
him ask the bandit to ride with him. There was 
also a lingering hope that he might be able to- 
turn the tables upon his antagonist. For there was 
never a man born—at least none worthy of the 
name of man—who did not have somewhere ia 
the bottom of his heart love for an honest fight- 
Yet he had sense enough to guess that whatever 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


56 

his prowess might be with weapons, it would be as 
nothing compared to the man in the seat beside 
him. For Jess Dreer was his antithesis. If he 
was without nerves, Jess Dreer was full of little 
else. And the calm exterior of Dreer was a dis¬ 
guise maintained by an almost muscular effort; be¬ 
neath the disguise there was a mind of wolfish 
alertness. It suddenly occurred to Valentine that 
this man might be many years younger than he 
seemed, for he was of the kind who age rapidly. 

And the interest of Valentine was by no means 
entirely malicious, as has been hinted. In Jess Dreer 
he crossed a new type of man, and he was curious 
to read beneath the surface. 

“You’ve had your horse for eight years,” said 
the rancher, and he looked down to the holster at the 
hip of his companion, “but I’ll chance a guess that 
you’ve had the gun a good deal longer.” 

“This gun?” 

With a gesture so smooth that the eye failed 
to appreciate its speed, the bandit reached back, and 
with the tips of his fingers—so it seemed—flicked 
the revolver out. It lay in the palm of his hand 
under the eye of Morgan Valentine. 

Suppose he were to strike up, would he knock 
that weapon out of the open hand and send it spin¬ 
ning? Something told him that swift as his blow 
might be, the long brown fingers would move with 
vastly more speed to curl around the gun. The 
very thought of what might happen perceptibly low¬ 
ered the temperature of the rancher’s blood. 

He saw that it was, as he had guessed/ a very 
old weapon. It bore evidence of the most meticulous 


OPPOSITES 


5 7 


care, but in spite of that an expert could see at a 
glance that it had passed its palmy days as an en¬ 
gine of destruction. 

“Now, there’s a gun that ain’t much to look at, 
said the bandit, and his singularly winning smile 
softened his face for a moment. “And between 
you and me, it ain’t much better’n it looks. It 
bucks like a wild colt. It’s got funny ways. It 
shoots the way a one-eyed hoss runs. It keeps 
veerin’ off to one side. Well, it’s a hard shooter— 
if you know its ways.” 

He paused, then added: “I seen it thrown out of 
the door into the ash can one day, and I picked 
it up.” 

“Just like this?” 

“All the parts was there, but it was considerable 
chewed up with rust. You can see where it’s eat 
away in places. It was on a Friday that I seen that 
gun throwed away.” 

“Unlucky day?” 

“Unlucky for most, but I run by opposites. And 
when I seen it fall I says: “There goes somebody’s 
bad luck. Maybe it’ll be my good luck.” So I 
took out the gun and spent the off time for the 
next couple of days oiling it up. Then I went out 
and tried her. Lordy, lordy! I shot a circle around 
a knot. She had twenty queer tricks, that gun 
had. But after a while I got to know the tricks. 
And now she does pretty smooth, neat work. You 
see?” 

The gun flipped up in the long fingers, and with¬ 
out raising his hand off his knees, the bandit fired. 


.58 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


Twenty yards away a squirrel, standing up like a 
peg beside its hole, was blown to bits. 

The geldings plunged at the explosion of the 
gun, and the bandit burst at once into a stream 
of excuses. 

“Now ain’t that a fool kid thing to do?” he 
cried. “Shooting a gun without asking you if your 
hosses was gun broke? Well, sir, call me a block¬ 
head, because I am one. Mr. Valentine, I sure 
am sorry!” 

Indeed, his words did not seem overdone, for his 
earnest gray eyes were upon the rancher in a species 
of entreaty. 

“Dreer,” said the cattleman earnestly, as soon as 
he had quieted the horses, “you don’t have to apolo¬ 
gize. It was worth it—to see that gun act all by 
itself.” 

But the other shook his head and returned the 
weapon to its leather. 

“You see,” he explained, “that gun is almost 
human to me. Suppose you had a friend with you 
when you got into a fight, and it was a dead-sure 
cinch that you’d get plugged if your friend didn’t 
stand up and play the man by you. And suppose 
you never knowed whether that friend would fight 
like a devil or else lie down and quit—like a greaser ? 
Well, sir, that’s the way it is with that gun. If 
I shoot with it, I have to look twice to see if I’ve 
hit a thing.” 

“And yet you still carry it? Yop still let your 
safety depend on that old rattletrap?” 

The crimson departed suddenly from the face of 


OPPOSITES 


59 

the stranger. And the muscle at the angle of his 
jaw leaped out into prominence. 

“Sir,” he said quietly, “they’s one thing that I 
appreciate, and that’s a gent that chooses his words. 
Rattletrap ain’t particular accurate, speaking about 
my gun!” 

“Why, Dreer, you’ve as good as said as much as 
that yourself.” 

The other turned his face, and there was the 
old unpleasant glint in his eyes. 

“I’m a peaceable man, Mr. Valentine,” he said. 
“Matter of fact, I’m a quiet kind of a gent and 
I mostly hate trouble, but I don’t think you and 
me are going to agree.” 

Morgan Valentine was too dumfounded to reply. 

“In the first place, sir,” went on the stranger, 
“you say you don’t think nothing particular fine 
about my hoss. Then I let that pass, and I just 
throw in a few qualifying remarks about the roan. 
And pretty soon you up and say my gun —my gun 
is a rattletrap!” 

He was unable to continue for a moment. 

“But after you’d just said practically the same 
thing yourself, man.” 

“Sir, whatever else may be wrong with that 
gun, it’s mine, and, being mine, they ain’t any man 
in the world that I’m going to hear say things about 
it that they won’t stand up and prove. And, speak¬ 
ing man to man, I can sure digest a pile of that 
sort of proof before I admit that I’m wrong.” 

A veritable devil was in his face as he spoke. 
And the long brown fingers were becoming restless 
upon his knee. 


6o 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


Then, very suddenly, and most welcome sight to 
Valentine, the blood rushed into the face of the 
tall man again. 

“Hanged if I didn’t forget for a minute,” he 
said, “that I was your guest, riding in your wagon. 
Mr. Valentine, I got to ask your pardon again. 
Just stop the buckboard and I’ll get out and climb 
on the roan. They ain’t any man living whose par¬ 
don I’ve asked three times hand-running. And I’ve 
done it twice by you already!” 

“Sit still,” replied Morgan Valentine. “I figure 
to keep you right here and take you home with me.” 


CHAPTER VH 


THE TWO GELDINGS 

I T should not be thought that Valentine was that 
cheap type of fellow who attempts to carry his 
points by surprise, but as the stranger talked with 
him the gradual conviction grew in him that he 
must see more of Jess Dreer. In the meantime Jess 
stared at his host as though the latter had gone mad. 

“Mr. Valentine,” he said, “I ain’t prying into 
what’s behind your mind. I’ll just say one little 
thing: I ain’t been under the roof of another man 
for eight years—as a friend.” 

“Why, then, if you object to coming as a friend, 
come as an enemy.” 

“With the bars down and you free to call in 
the sheriff when you please?” 

“Dreer, do you think I’m the sort who’d call in 
a sheriff while you’re under my roof?” 

“I didn’t mean no insult,” replied the bandit more 
gently. “But I ain’t a mind reader, Mr. Valentine. 
Why the devil should you want me to come home 
with you?” 

“Because,” said the rancher, “although I’ve lived 
some fifty years and a bit more, I don’t think I’ve 
met more’n two men that particularly interested me. 
And you’re one of ’em. As a matter of fact, there’s 
nothing so strange. You’ve taken some of my 
money. Well, what you’ve taken won’t break me. 
I’m what you might call a pretty well-to-do man, 


62 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


Dreer. Now, I'd spend fifteen hundred on a fine 
hoss and never think twice about it. Why shouldn’t 
I spend fifteen hundred for a man and enjoy talking 
to him? Think it over.” 

“I stick you up and lift fifteen hundred iron men. 
Then you step out and ask me home. I go to your 
home. I put my legs under your table. I eat your 

chuck-” He made a face of disgust. “I couldn’t 

do it, pardner, even though you don’t mean nothing 
but kindness.” 

“Think it over,” echoed the rancher. 

A’ silence fell. The geldings jogged relentlessly, 
tirelessly forward; the roan cantered softly behind 
the buckboard. 

“If I could figure how you’d gain anything,” the 
bandit murmured finally, “I might chance it, 
but-” 

“Take your time and think it over,” insisted 
Morgan Valentine. 

“Well, sir,” said the bandit suddenly, “I call 
your bluff. If it’s a trap—well, a nerve like yours 
ought to catch something. I’ll go home with you.” 

Valentine stretched out his hand. But the tall 
man glanced down at the stubby, proffered fist, 
and then back to the rancher. 

“Some ways,” he said, “you might put me down 
as queer. But I ain’t any too fond of shaking 
hands. You see, a handshake means a pile to me. 
I shook hands with a man that sold me to a sheriff 
once.” 

“And the sheriff got you?” 

“No, the other way round. But I couldn’t touch 
the gent that had double crossed me—the skunk!—• 



THE TWO GELDINGS 


63 


because I’d shaken hands with him. Now, remem¬ 
bering that, I guess you’ll change your mind about 
this handshaking?” 

“It goes with me as far as it goes with you.” 

Suddenly they shook hands. 

Then they said in one voice, like a trained chorus : 
“That takes a load off my mind!” 

In the meantime the evening was approaching. 
The early night had patched the mountains with 
purple and filled every ravine with tides of incredible 
blue. Before them the hills began to divide. 

“D’you know something?” said the bandit. 

Valentine saw that his companion was leaning 
far forward, his elbows on his knees and his face 
wistful. It meant a great deal more than words, 
that unguarded attitude. It meant that Morgan 
Valentine had been judged by this man and had 
been accepted according to his standards. 

“What’s that?” 

“Yonder—-behind them hills—well, I’ll be step¬ 
ping out into a new part of my life.” 

“I wouldn’t wonder much if you were.” 

Still the geldings jogged on, and the hills moved 
by them slowly, awkwardly, growing each moment 
more dusky. They turned a sharp bend, and below 
them lay the valley of the Crane River; above it 
the red of the sunset filled the sky, and the river 
itself was a streak of dark crimson. 

“Gimme the reins,” said the bandit. 

Silently the rancher passed them to his companion, 
who now gathered them in closer. He did not speak 
a word, but perhaps the tenseness of the reins, the 
new weight vibrating against their bits, carried a 


64 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

message to the geldings. Of one accord, they 
stepped out into a freer gait, their heads raised, 
their ears pricked. Life came into their step. If 
two whips had touched them at the same instant 
the effect could not have been more noticeable. And 
it seemed to Morgan Valentine that a current of 
strength and knowledge was passing down the reins 
and into the minds of the dumb brutes. To him it 
was more than a miracle. 

“Do you know/’ he said, as the buckboard was 
whipped forward with redoubled speed and jolted 
noisily over the bumps in the road, “that’s the first 
time I’ve seen those nags change that old dogtrot of 
theirs?” 

The bandit made no reply for some time. He 
was changing the pressure on the reins. First the 
off horse came up on the bit and strained against the 
collar; then the near horse, who had been pulled 
back, was released and quickened his pace until he 
was snorting beside his companion and even, ahead of 
him. And then both increased their pace, and the 
jolting was redoubled. 

“Look at that!” murmured the bandit. “As long 
as they agreed they wasn’t worth a nickel. As 
long as they went ahead at that same old sleepy 
trot they wasn’t worth powder and lead enough 
to blow their heads off. But now they’re begin¬ 
ning to try each other out. They’re beginning to 
race. I tell you what, Valentine, the way to get 
the most out of men—or hosses—is to play ’em 
one agin’ the other.” 

Indeed, the two geldings now had their heads 
as high as if they were just beginning a journey— 


THE TWO GELDINGS 65 

higher than they had ever held them for Morgan 
Valentine. 

And the latter was naturally full of thought as 
the buckboard careened down the hillside and 
dropped into the valley floor. Now and again, as 
the dusk thickened, he looked behind him and saw 
the roan mare following patiently, always with her 
ears flat against her neck. It was almost as if the 
fear of the master she hated were still in the saddle, 
spurring her on, curbing her free spirit, and break¬ 
ing it to do his will. 

Something in this thought made him look up 
at the face of the bandit, and he saw him sitting 
with his face tense and a light of cruel enjoyment 
in his eyes. It was as if he drew a deep delight 
out of the rivalry which he had put in the hearts 
of the two geldings. 

It was, of course, night when they reached the 
stables behind the ranch house, although the moon, 
which hung over Grizzly Peak, was sending a faint, 
slant light down the valley. One of the hands came 
out to unhitch the horses, but the outlaw insisted 
upon handling his own mount. He led it into one 
of the individual corrals. 

“A roof over her head always sort of bothers 
Angelina,” he explained, while the rancher looked 
on in curiosity. 

He watered her carefully, fed her grain and hay 
in cautious portions, and rubbed away the sweat 
under the saddle blanket. Yet the instant he turned 
to answer a word from the rancher she whirled 
on her master. He did not turn his head to make 
sure that she was coming; though she veered noise- 


66 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


lessly, her master did not pause, but leaped straight 
for the bars and vaulted over them. The teeth of 
the mare clicked with the noise of a steel trap shut¬ 
ting, just at the place where his hand had rested 
on the top bar. 

“Ah, beauty! Ah, Angelina!” cried Jess Dreer, 
and came back to the bars. “Eyes in the back of my 
head, girl, and to-morrow you’ll pay for this. Re¬ 
member? To-morrow? Or the next day; it’s added 
to the score.” 

There was, at this point, a sudden outbreak of 
snorting and a rattle of harness from the big 
watering trough. 

“What the dickens! Jud! Harry!” a man was 
crying. “What the devil has got into you? Quiet 
there!” 

“By Heaven,” murmured the rancher, “the geld¬ 
ings are fighting!” 

“Is that strange?” asked Jess Dreer. 

“They’ve lived like two brothers—which they are 
—ever since they were foaled.” 

“All the better,” said Jess Dreer gayly. “A hoss 
is like a man. Needs a good fight now and then to 
keep ’em on edge.” 

And Morgan Valentine shivered. He did not 
say another word on the way to the house. He 
was beginning to think of many things. 


CHAPTER VIII 


QUESTIONED 

I T was not until they had reached the very shadow 
of the sprawling old house that the rancher re¬ 
covered from his absent-mindedness. 

"‘How am I to introduce you?” he asked. 

“As Jess Dreer,” said the bandit. “I guess INr£ 
outrode my reputation.” 

“I think so. But where have I met you?” 
“Somewhere south.” 

“I haven’t traveled about much in the south. Let 
me see. Five years ago I was in Ireton; have you 
ever been there?” 

“Nope. What’s it like?” 

“Common cow town.” 

“All right. I know it then. You met me there.” 
“That’s all I’ll have to say unless Mary starts 
asking questions. She’s the outbeatingest girl for 
talking when she gets started on a thing.” 

At this the bandit side-stepped and scowled at 
his companion. 

“You hitched up to a pile of womenfolks?” he 
muttered. 

“My wife and my daughter won’t bother you 
none, and my two boys knows what’s manners be¬ 
tween men, but Mary—she’s my niece—can make a 
murderer talk if she sets her mind right on it.” 

At this the bandit chuckled. It was always a 
surprise to hear the soft, musical voice of this man. 


68 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Leave her to me, pardner. It’s been a good 
many years since I got my imagination all going 
at once, but when I get oiled up I can spin the 
yarns out all night. What was the name of that 
town—Ireton? Nothing queer about it? Well, leave 
the rest to me, Valentine. If she wants talk, 111 
let her have it.” 

“Aye, but one thing more, while we’re on the 
subject of Mary. She’s a fine girl, Dreer, but 

she has her ways. And one of them is to get all 
excited about any stranger man that comes around. 
She starts in by being foolish about ’em and most 
generally they wind up by being foolish about her. 
Now, I don’t mean that you’re the kind to get 

foolish about any girl, but I’m just telling you 
beforehand that if Mary begins to smile at you 

and act like you was a gold mine that she’d dis¬ 
covered all by herself, don’t let it bother you.” 

“Don’t bother none about me, Valentine. I’m 
well broke, pardner. I ain’t gun shy and I ain’t 
girl shy. Lead on!” 

Since the night had turned crisp, Valentine found 
his entire family grouped near the big fireplace 

in the living room. They were in characteristic 
attitudes. Maude Valentine sat with her feet tucked 
well back under her chair and her knitting needles 
flew with soft precision. Elizabeth, her daughter, 
lay in a big chair with her hands locked behind her 
head, looking dreamily out the black window. In 
another corner Mary was plotting with Charlie Val¬ 
entine, and Louis, disconsolately out of the picture, 
attempted to bury himself in a book, out of which 
he lifted envious glances at Charlie from time to 


QUESTIONED 69 

time. When the door opened there was a general 
shifting of eyes and attitudes; the tall and decep¬ 
tively graceful form of Jess Dreer became the center 
of attention. 

“Mother, Eve brought home an old friend. Jess- 
Dreer. Dreer, this is my girl Elizabeth. Mary 
Valentine, my niece, and my boys, Charlie and^ 
Louis.” 

They shook hands. 

How much did the bandit learn from the touch 
of their fingers—from the cold, faint pressure of 
Mrs. Valentine; from the grip of Charlie, boyishly 
eager to test the comparative strength of this tall 
stranger; from the nervous touch of Louis’ hand, 
for Louis was always ill at ease and apt to be 
embarrassed before newcomers. “Lizbeth” greeted 
him at the full distance of her rather thin arm. 
She was one of those who come late to woman¬ 
hood. Her eyes still held that infinite quiet of 
childhood; her throat was small, but her mouth 
had a kindly softness. She would never have Mary 
Valentine’s gemlike beauty of detail, but in time she 
would ripen to a rare womanhood. And as for 
Mary, her hand and her glance both lingered on 
him. It was as if she had seen him before and 
was now trying to resurrect the complete memory. 

Mrs. Valentine took them into the dining room, 
and there she busied herself all the time they were 
eating by popping up out of her chair and running 
to get something as soon as she was once fairly 
seated. She discovered that Morgan’s napkin was 
spotted, that his favorite Chow-chow had been left 
off the fable, that the baked potatoes were under- 


70 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


done, for which the cook received a brief, stern 
sentence, that the window was too widely open; in 
short, she spent the entire space of the meal asking 
Jess Dreer how long he had been in that part of 
the country, and interrupting herself every time be¬ 
fore s'he got through with the interrogation. Finally 
she forgot all about her question, and sat as usual, 
with a smile of attention on her lips listening to 
the men talk, while her eyes roved wistfully about 
the table hunting for the missing things. Yet never 
once did she win a glance from Morgan Valentine. 
She filled the time of the meal with an atmosphere 
of flurry and uncertainty, quite unheeded by her 
husband. But once, twice the gray eye of Jess Dreer 
fixed her through and through and tumbled her sad, 
small soul into full view. Not that she understood 
it; she only felt a vague fear of the stranger, his 
silences, his alert calm. 

When they went back into the living room two 
big chairs were drawn comfortably near to the fire, 
and the other chairs arranged in a loose semicircle 
on both sides of the fireplace so that the travelers 
could rest in ease. 

“And how’s young Norman?” asked Morgan Val¬ 
entine. 

He had turned to Charlie, but the latter indicated 
Louis with a jerk of his thumb. 

“I dunno. Lou went over to see how Joe was 
coming on.” 

“I rode over,” said Louis, embarrassed by the 
sudden focusing of all eyes upon him, “but I might 
as well 'have stayed away. They was about a thou¬ 
sand Normans hanging around the house. When I 


QUESTIONED 


7i 


come up the path from tihe hitching rack they was 
about a dozen of ’em on the front veranda. I 
hear ’em say: ‘It’s him.’ ‘No,’ says some one, 
‘it ain’t him, but it’s his brother.’ Then I come up 
and says howdy to ’em, but all they do is grunt 
like pigs-” 

“Which they are!” cried Charlie. 

The clhair of Morgan Valentine creaked as he 
turned, and under his glance his eldest son lowered 
his gaze. All of this byplay was noted by the 
shrewd eye of the bandit. And the fact that he 
had been observed by a stranger to endure a repri¬ 
mand made Charlie jerk up his head again and 
glare defiantly at Jess Dreer. The latter did not 
turn his head politely as another man might have 
done. He met the challenging glance of the younger 
man with a calm indifference so that it could be 
felt he was coolly measuring the other and filing 
an estimate of him away. # 

“Anyway,” went on Louis, “I went up to the 
door and knocked. Mrs. Norman came, and I took 
off my hat and says: ‘I’ve come to ask after Joe. 
How is he?’ 

“She didn’t say nothing for a minute. She just 
stood there drying the dishwater off her hands and 
looking me up and down. 

“ ‘Oh,’ she says after a while, ‘it’s you, is it ? And 
why didn’t your brother come and ask about his 
murdered man?’ 

“And when she said that all the men on the 
veranda growled. I turned away and didn’t say any 
more-” 



72 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Oh,” cried Mary Valentine, “I wish that Ld been 
in your boots! Fd have found something to say!” 

“Mary,” said Mrs. Valentine, “it looks to me like 
you'd found too much to say other times.” 

Her husband checked her with a swiftly raised 
hand, but Mary continued to stare defiantly at her 
aunt. Since the episode of Joe Norman they had 
been almost openly at war, and now Mrs. Valentine 
compressed her lips and knitted with a venomous 
speed. 

“You needn't think that I wouldn't have talked 
back fast enough if one of the men had talked 
up,'' said Louis, turning red. “I wasn't afraid of 
any of 'em, Mary, if that’s what you mean.” 

“You know it isn't what I mean, Lou,'' she said 
with a diplomatic change of voice. “Nobody is 
fool enough to doubt your courage; you're a Valen¬ 
tine, I guess! But it makes me mad to think of 
you turning away without giving that mob a few 
hot shots between* wind and water.” 

“I wish I’d had the chance at 'em,” said Charlie 
ferociously, and he flashed Mary a glance that sought 
approval. 

“Good thing you hadn't,” replied the girl in¬ 
stantly. “You’d probably have had ten men on your 
hands in no time. Better to say nothing at all, like 
Lou, than say the wrong thing.” 

It made Charlie glower at her, but Louis smiled 
in triumph. Plainly Jess Dreer saw how the clever 
girl balanced one of them, against the other. 

“But here we are talking family shop before a 
stranger!” continued Mary Valentine, and she smiled 
an apology at Jess Dreer. 


QUESTIONED 


73 


He shifted his regard from Louis to his cousin, 
and, if ever a smile failed to strike its target, cer¬ 
tainly Mary’s smile glanced harmlessly away from 
the impersonal eyes of Dreer. She found herself 
suddenly sobered. 

“Don’t mind me,” he was saying in that surpris¬ 
ingly gentle voice. 

“A little fracas,” explained his host swiftly. 
“Charlie had a mix-up with Joe Norman and 
dropped him—through the arm—nothing to talk of.” 

Here Mrs. Valentine raised her eyes, let her 
glance fall pointedly upon Mary, sighed, and shook 
her head. It was impossible to miss her meaning. 
Mary had been the cause of the quarrel. But Jess 
Dreer was looking toward the ceiling and had ap¬ 
parently seen nothing. Mary did not know Whether 
to be relieved or piqued. But now that the stranger’s 
attention was diverted to other things she took the 
occasion to examine him more minutely. Ordina¬ 
rily she was not in the least interested in the few 
acquaintances whom her uncle brought home, but 
now she discovered that this stranger was prob¬ 
ably not quite so old as his weather-beaten appear¬ 
ance had at first led her to imagine. 

Then she found that the conversation had taken 
a new turn. Mrs. Valentine apparently felt that it 
was the part of a perfect hostess to draw the 
stranger into the center of attention. 

“How long have you and Mr. Dreer known each 
other, Morgan?” she asked. 


CHAPTER IX 

STILL WATERS 

A T this Morgan Valentine flashed a glance at 
his companion, indicating that the danger line 
was being approached. 

“Oh—about five years,” he said carelessly. He 
should have said more. His very carelessness made 
Mrs. Valentine continue her inquiry as though she 
feared that Dreer would consider himself slighted 
by so summary a dismissal from conversation. 

“Five years? Well, you’re a secretive man, Mor¬ 
gan. Would you believe, Mr. Dreer, that he's never 
mentioned you in all that time. I've known him to 
do the same with some of his oldest and best friends. 
That’s Morgan’s way! Where was it you first met 
Mr. Dreer, Morgan?” 

“Down in Ireton.” 

“Well, well! As long ago as that?” And the 
subject was closed for Mrs. Valentine. Then Mary 
entered the lists. 

“Why, that was the time you bought the timber, 
Uncle Morgan?” 

“I guess it was. I disremember.” 

“Were you one of the men Uncle Morgan bought 
it from?” 

“I never been interested in timber,” said Jess 
Dreer. “Horses is more my line. But speaking 
about timber-” 

Who knows how far he might have rambled afield 


STILL WATERS 


75 


on the subject *of timber and all its possibilities bad 
not chance interrupted him. There was a snap, and 
a bright coal leaped out of the fireplace and onto 
the rug. In the flurry of putting it out Dreer’s 
promised anecdote was forgotten, and before he 
could resume it, Mary was back on the subject. 

“Oh, did you buy that string of grays from Mr. 
Dreer, Uncle Morgan?” 

“I disremember how it was that I met Dreer,” 
said Valentine, with a mild voice like that of one 
who labors in vain to find a suitable lie. 

Dreer came to his rescue. 

“It was in Tolliver’s saloon. We were drink¬ 
ing-” 

“Why, Uncle Morgan! I thought it was ten years 
since you’d had a drink!” 

“Not drinking whisky,” put in Jess Dreer calmly. 
“Leastways, he was taking lemonade, and I was 
tossing off my redeye. That was how we come 
to talk.” 

As plain as day the steady eye of the girl said 
to him: “You are lying, Mr. Jess Dreer, and I 
know it.” 

But he went on: “And I’ll tell you why Mr. Val¬ 
entine ain’t ever mentioned me. It’s because he’s 
a modest man. But here’s the facts. I was saying 
that I had been drinking whisky. Well, when I 
went out into the sun it got into my head and made 
it spin. When I climbed onto my boss I raked his 
side with) a spur, and the next thing I knew my 
pinto was ten feet in the air. When he landed 
I kept right on traveling. And when pinto seen 



76 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

me on the ground he allowed I was his meat and 
started for me. He was a man-eater, was pinto. 

“There I lay stretched out with eight hundred and 
fifty pounds of red-eyed hossflesh tearing for me and 
about twenty fools laughing their heads off in 
front of the saloon. But they was one man cool 
enough to see what was coming off: a man-killing. 
He had a split part of a second to keep that hoss 
from reaching me, and he done it. He outs with 
his guns and drills pinto clean through the temples. 
As pretty a snapshot as ever I seen. And that man 
was Morgan Valentine!” 

He dropped his hand lightly on the shoulder 
of Valentine. 

“But he’s so modest that it ain’t no wonder he’s 
never talked about me.” 

Now Mary Valentine sat next to the tall stranger, 
and she was leaning forward to catch every syllable 
and read every detail of his expression, but for 
some reason he did not seem to see her. His target 
lay beyond It was Elizabeth who had pushed 
her chair a little out of line with the rest of the 
circle, quite content to let Mary take the lion’s 
share of the attention of the evening. On her 
Jess Dreer bent his steady eye, and every inflection 
of his voice was aimed at the girl, so that she, too, 
leaned forward, and before the end was smiling 
in breathless interest. 

While the general exclamation went the rounds 
at the end of the tale, Mary snapped a glance over 
her shoulder at her cousin. Then she turned her 
attention back upon the tall man. 


STILL WATERS 


77 


“I guess you’ve made that a bit strong,” Valentine 
was saying. 

“Facts are facts,” said t'he bandit, and rolled a 
cigarette. 

He had adroitely pushed his host out of the 
embarrassing center of the stage and stepped into 
the spotlight himself. 

“PintO' reared when the lead hit him; coming 
down, one of his forefeet clipped me here.” 

And the bandit touched the scar upon his fore¬ 
head. There was a general leaning forward and 
an intaken breath; Mrs. Valentine fixed her starry 
eyes upon her husband. In the clamor Mary could 
say to the stranger without fear of being overheard: 

“Mr. Dreer, how much of that is made up?” 

He neither smiled nor flushed. 

“Guess,” he said. 

“The whole thing.” 

“Lady,” he answered calmly, “you sure got faith 
in my imagination !” 

At this point the fire blazed up so hot that Mrs. 
Valentine had to move her chair. It was Jess 
Dreer who read her wish and pulled the chair back, 
and when he sat down again it was in a place 
beside Lizbeth. 

It would not be fair to Mary to say that she 
was piqued by this occurrence. She was not an¬ 
gered; she was merely gathered up in the silence 
of a vast astonishment. For the first time in her 
life she had been overlooked, it seemed, and her 
cousin was preferred. And yet she had given Jess 
Dreer his full share of intriguing glances and bright 
smiles. 


78 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

Indeed, the interest of the stranger in Lizbeth 
was so pointed that the whole family began to no¬ 
tice. He gave his host and hostess a phrase or a 
word now and then, but he contrived to make his 
talk go constantly toward the girl. And it was 
plain that Mrs. Valentine was not altogether dis¬ 
pleased. As for Elizabeth, Mary saw her at first 
embarrassed, and then flushed, and then lost in a 
great interest. She was beginning to dwell on the 
face of Dreer while he spoke. Mary drew her 
uncle to one side. 

“Your friend likes Lizbeth, ,, she said pointedly. 

“And Lizbeth seems to like him.” 

“Now, Mary, what are you aiming to come at?”; 

“I aim to know who Jess Dreer is.” 

“Ain’t you been told tolerable in detail?” 

“Too much detail, dear Uncle Morgan. Do you" 
think I was taken in by that cock and bull story 
about the mad horse?” 

“Hush, Mary!” and his glance sought his wife, 
guiltily. 

“I knew it!” 

“Mary, you’re a nuisance.” 

“But just tell me who he is, and I won’t bother • 
you a word more.” 

“He’s a man. Two legs, tolerable long;'two 
arms, tolerable strong, and, speaking in general, he’s 
like any other man.” 

“He’s as much like any other man,” said the 
girl, watching him. earnestly, “as a wolf is like a 
dog. Look at his hands, Uncle Morgan. They’re 
brown. He hasn’t worn gloves much, the way 
honest cow-punchers do. Look at the inside of his 


STILL WATERS 


79 


palms. No callouses. I noticed when I shook hands 
with him. Look at the way he moves! Like a 
cat moves, uncle. Don’t tell me he’s an ordinary 
man!” 

“They’s all kinds of men, and when you’re older 
you’ll know it. Wolf? That’s foolishness, honey.” 

“A wolf, uncle.” 

‘‘You think he’s talking too much to Lizbeth?” 

“Oh, no. Lizbeth is too much of a baby to be 
harmed.” 

“She’s grown up, Mary.” 

“On the outside; inside she’s about ten years old. 
But I’m right about this stranger. Even Charlie 
and Louis see that he’s different. Usually Charlie 
starts edging up to new men, but he keeps clear 
of Dreer. See how he eyes him!” 

“There you go again.” 

“Then tell me the truth about him.” 

“I’ll tell you this much, honev. He’s not the 
kind for you to set your cap at.” 

“You mean that you think I’ll flirt with him?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Uncle! With a man fifteen years older than I 
am?” 

“Maybe not so old as that. But he’s old enough. 
You’ve played around with boys, Mary, and they 
was no particular harm in it, excepting for getting 
Charlie into scrapes now and then. But when 
you start making eyes at a grown man, trouble 
will hit you and not them.” 

“You admit that it isn’t very safe to be friendly 
with him. And yet you’ve known him five years?” 


8o 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“No matter how long. I know him. And you 
keep away from him, honey.” 

“How long does he stay?” 

“Till after you go.” 

“Somewhere there’s a mystery,” said Mary Val¬ 
entine, and she added suddenly: “There he is laugh¬ 
ing at us now. Why, he knows we’re talking about 
him, and he’s mocking me.” 

“Honey, he ain’t laughing.” 

“With his eyes, Uncle Morgan, 
one!” 


Oh, he’s a deep 



CHAPTER X 


THE COUNTER ATTACK 

IE Valentine had sought to create a diversion and 
* start new interests by bringing his bandit home, 
he had indubitably succeeded. The advent of the 
stranger had the effect of a bomb which is about 
to explode. No one could really have said why 
Dreer was exciting, but before he had been in the 
room for ten minutes each member of Valentine’s 
family had felt the same influence of excitement 
which had affected Morgan Valentine and induced 
him to bring the stranger to his home. Perhaps 
it was that in spite of the grave decorum of Dreer’s 
manner one felt about him a native wildness. In a 
way, it might be said that he carried a gust of fresh 
air into the room. And he was constantly alert and 
active after the manner of wild things. His hands 
were rarely still, and though he seldom turned his 
head his eyes went everywhere. 

When he smiled at a remark of Elizabeth’s, 
Mary felt that he was laughing at her, and Charlie 
felt that he was being mocked. Not that the 
stranger pointedly ignored the rest of the room, 
but it seemed that he had happened to sit down 
by Elizabeth, and he found her sufficiently en¬ 
tertaining. But the great point of wonder was 
that Elizabeth was actually talking. At first halt¬ 
ingly, confused because the eyes of the others in 
the room were occasionally turning upon her with 


82 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


wonder, but by degrees warming into complete for¬ 
getfulness of the rest. She lowered her voice. She 
was talking to the tall man alone. About w’hatr 
The others caught fragments of phrases about her 
horses, about her last hunting trip, about the lobo 
she shot last spring. She had begun by asking 
timidly polite questions. She ended by chattering 
gayly about herself. 

It was a pretty thing to see her grow excited. 
What Mary Valentine could not decide was whether 
her cousin was excited by Jess Dreer the man, or 
Jess Dreer the audience. 

She was similarly puzzled by Dreer. In another 
she would have thought his attitude one of polite 
indifference. But she could not be sure of him 
and his mental status. 

She had known many a boy and many a boy’s 
mind. They always showed their entire hand at 
once. One read the cards, was fascinated for a 
moment perhaps, and the next moment became bored 
because the antagonist was a known quantity. But 
Jess Dreer was not known. He lurked behind 
a screen. He revealed not half, not a tithe of 
his strength—or of his weakness, for that matter. 
As far as. Mary could make out, this fellow had 
brought Lizbeth out of her shell as another woman 
might have done. It was odd. Mary would have 
given a great deal to know why he winced when a 
door was opened behind him, why his eyes were apt 
to flash suddenly up, glitter, and droop. She felt 
that he would be more content if his chair were 
back against the wall. 

It was at this point in her train of thought 


THE COUNTER ATTACK 


83 


that the doorbell rang, and Mary sprang up to 
answer it. She was glad to get away from the 
room. She wanted to have the chill air of the 
night against her face—to breathe of it in the 
hope that it would clear a mist from her mind 
and enable her to think logically and brush away 
her rising excitement. For the question was beat¬ 
ing into her consciousness always: What is Jess 
Dreer? Her uncle had put her off. Why? Or did 
he know? And was Jess Dreer there because he 
had some claim and power over Morgan Valentine? 

She threw open the front door after she had 
gone thought fully down the hall, and she saw— 
dim figures in the moonlight, and with the reek of 
a long horseback ride about them—Sheriff Claney 
of Salt Springs, and another man. Now Sheriff 
Claney’s boy had been one of Mary's victims in the 
near past, and that was the reason that she threw a 
conciliatory warmth into her greeting: 

“Why, Sheriff Claney! Come in. Dad will be 
happy to see you.” 

The sheriff smiled at her, and in smiling the ends 
of his drooping mustaches bristled out to the sides 
like tusks, 

“Mostly folks feel another way when I come along 
to say how d’you do. But wait a minute, Mary. 
I ain’t here on a pleasure call.” 

“You have business—here?” 

She thought of Charlie’s affair with Joe Norman. 

“That miserable Norman family—have they sent 
you after Charlie?” 

The sheriff smiled, disagreeably. 

“I dunno anything about Charlie and the Norman 


84 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

boy,” he said. “I don’t go prying after trouble. 
Mostly, enough of it comes my way without hunt¬ 
ing. All I want to do is to ask you a few ques¬ 
tions, Mary.” 

“And you won’t come in?” 

“Nope. Is there a man in your house called Jess 
Dreer?” 

The floodgates opened, the water burst through 
the dam, and Mary Valentine was picked up in a 
torrent of sudden knowledge. Jess Dreer! The 
question flashed a lantern light on the man. 

“Jess Dreer?” she repeated. 

“That’s the name. Is he inside?” 

She fought for time. As a matter of fact she 
was balancing between two impulses. The first 
was to hand this fellow over to the law at once. 
The second impulse was—she did not know what— 
but certainly it was to keep him safe. 

“What does he look like?” 

“About as tall as my friend here. Mr. John 
Caswell—Miss Mary Valentine. About as tall as 
Caswell, maybe a mite smaller. Big shoulders, I 
understand, and the sort of a face that’s easy to 
remember. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Active with his 
hands.” 

She still paused. How fast her mind was work¬ 
ing! And therefore her speech was slow. 

“Oh, yes, I remember now. Yes, there was a 
man like that here, and, now that I remember, I 
think he said that his name was Jess Dreer.” 

“But he ain’t here now?” 

“No. He rode away—quite a while ago.” 

“I told you so,” said the big man who had been 


THE COUNTER ATTACK 85 

called Caswell. “That gent is a fox. He’s got 
these people on his side.” 

But Sheriff Claney hushed the other with a raised 
hand. 

“I think maybe you’re mistaken, miss. We’ve 
got an idea that Dreer is in the house right now. 
Maybe he’s hiding, and you don’t know it. But 
we got his hoss and his saddle. In fact, we’ve 
found his hoss in the corral and saddled her, and 
now we got that hoss waiting for Mr. Dreer!” 

“Of course you have his horse.” Mary Valentine 
nodded. “He left the mare and took one of dad’s 
’horses. I think he paid dad something into the 
bargain for the exchange.” 

“How long ago?” Sheriff Claney asked. 

“An hour; but, sheriff, come on inside and search 
the house, if you want.” 

“Not if he’s gone. Which way?” 

“He took that road. You ought to catch him 
in the mountains.” 

“How’s your hoss, Caswell?” 

“Played out.” 

“So’s mine, pretty nigh.” 

“Well, then, come in, sheriff.” 

For she knew perfectly that this bulldog would 
not leave the trail. She leaned against the side 
of the door and laughed at him. 

“I think that for a moment you suspected that 
we were sheltering him. But what’s he done?” 

“What’s he done?” Caswell said explosively. 
“What ain’t he done? He’s done enough to bring 
me a thousand miles on the trail. What’s he done? 


86 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


Why, that's Jess Dreer; they scare their kids with 
that name down south!" 

One might have thought that Mary Valentine 
would shrink in horror at this news. She did not. 
No, a fire came in her eyes. 

“Is he as bad as all that? Oh, I hope you get 
him, Mr. Caswell!" 

“Right down that road!" She ran to the front 
of the veranda. “Hurry! I’ll go back and tell 
dad about it. He’ll be after you in five minutes 
with fresh horses. He’ll take along a couple of 
fresh mounts for you." 

“Come on, Caswell!" 

But Caswell, with his foot on the verge of taking 
the first step down, paused. 

“What I don’t figure," he said, “is why Dreer 
left his own saddle behind? It’s hard enough to 
figure why he left the hoss?" 

“Because he knew you were on his heels, Caswell," 
cried Claney. “Hurry up, man. He’s gaining 
miles on us." 

“How’d he know I was on his heels? Nobody 
else has give him a run—not for five years. He’s 
always give the others too hot a reception at the 
end of the trail—them that ever come up with him." 

“Facts is facts. Come on.” 

c T’m thinkin’." 

And he rubbed his chin and stared hard at Mary 
Valentine. 

“Don’t you see that he’s getting away?" she cried 
in an apparent frenzy. 

“Seems to me, ma’am, that you’re in a consider¬ 
able trouble to have him caught. Most of the 


THE COUNTER ATTACK 87 

womenfolk I know most generally hopes he gets 
away.” 

“Caswell, I'm going on without you.” 

“Wait a minute. Claney, it won’t do.” 

The latter turned and hurried back up the steps. 

“I’ll tell you why,” explained the man from the 
south. “That hoss has been with Dreer for eight 
years. Ten times he could of changed her for 
a fresh hoss when he was being trailed, but he 
never wouldn’t do it. And why does he do it now? 
Even if he knowed I was after him, that mare 
could of kept on going and run down a fresh hoss. 
She ain’t common hossflesh. She’s all leather inside 
and out. I know her.” 

“Well, where are you aiming?” 

Claney turned on Mary. 

“I’m aiming to search this house, and I don’t 
think I’ll have far to go.” 

She stared at him an instant. 

“You’re a little insulting,” said Mary, drawing 
herself up. And then, seeing that he would persist 
in his purpose she slipped before him and opened 
the door. 

“Come in, then,” said Mary. 

But when he made a step forward she slammed 
the door in his face, and the astonished sheriffs 
heard the heavy bolt click home. 


.CHAPTER XI 


PURSUIT 

I N the living room there had grown tip a slight 
suspense. 

“What keeps Mary so long?” asked her uncle 
at length. 

“I’ll go to find out,” suggested Elizabeth. 

And then, to the astonishment of the others, big 
Jess Dreer was seen to slip from his chair. The 
Ere cast a gigantic shadow behind him against the 
wall. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said gently, “I think I’ll 
step out and see.” 

But at that moment the front door crashed; there 
was the metallic ring of the bolt driven home, and 
then Mary whipped into the room. A beautiful pic¬ 
ture. A wisp of hair had blown down across her 
cheek. Her eyes were alight with excitement. And 
yet there was something akin to a laugh on her 
lips. 

“Jess Dreer,” she cried, “follow me!” 

And before one of the others could so much as 
rise from a chair, she had raced across the room 
and out through the farther door with Dreer gliding 
at her heels; even then he appeared unhurried. 

“This way!” commanded the girl, and ran up the 
brief flight of steps that joined one stretch of the 
back hall with another at a higher level. They 
went down the passage at full speed, and then. 


PURSUIT 


89 


at the foot of it, she cast open another door and 
beckoned him into the room. Once inside, she 
bolted the door behind her. 

From the front of the house there was a thunder 
against the door, and the voice of Morgan Valentine 
was calling: “Mary, what’s this all about?” 

Jess Dreer took quick stock of the room. The 
moonlight struck in a broad shaft through one of 
the windows, and the rest of the apartment was 
filled with a dim, dim light. It was a girl’s room. 
That indescribable fragrance lived in it, like a spirit. 
And there were splashes of bright color made faint 
by the night. 

“They’re after you,” cried the girl softly. “Sheriff 
Claney and a man named Caswell, who has followed 
you from the south.” 

She was shocked to see him leaning idly against 
the wall. 

“Now, think of that,” murmured Jess Dreer. “I 
figured that Caswell was a sensible sort of gent, 
and here he is trying to make a reputation by 
catching me. Well, well, they ain’t any way of 
judging a man when he starts out to try to get 
famous.” 

She gasped away her surprise. 

“No matter what he is. He may be a fool, but 
Sheriff Claney is a dangerous man. He’s well 
known. Too well known.” 

“Mighty good of you to let me know about him.” 

“Come here. Quick! It isn’t far to drop to the 
ground from this window. You see how the hill 
slopes away up just underneath?” 

“Dear me, now! But they’s one great trouble. I 


90 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


have to get out to my hoss and saddle her before 
I can start on.” 

“You’ll never ride that horse again. They found 
her in the corral, and they’ve saddled her to take 
you away on her.” 

“I knowed Caswell was a terrible considerate 
man.” 

She paid no attention. 

“You see that hill? Strike for that. Just beyond 
there’s broken country. No horse can follow you 
over it. You have a gun?” 

“A sort of a one.” 

“Then go!” 

“Lady,” said Jess Dreer, “I’d a pile rather go 
on Angelina as a prisoner than go on foot a free 
man.” 

She stared at him. 

There was the unmistakable sound of the splinter¬ 
ing of wood. 

“Quick!” she pleaded, almost sobbing in her frenzy 
of excitement. 

“Th^y’s one or two things that sort of holds me 
back,” murmured the bandit. 

“What? What?” 

“Look out yonder!” 

She saw to one side—fifty yards away—two men 
sitting motionless on their horses. 

“Then you’re lost!” 

“I’m squeezed, anyways. And yonder is Angelina, 
I see.” 

And following the direction in which he pointed, 
she saw another pair of men on their horses, with 
a spare horse held between them. 


PURSUIT 


91 


“There’s no hope? Tell me how to help you!” 

“Lady, I sure appreciate all the interest you’re 
showing.” 

And with this, he sank down upon a chair and 
crossed his legs. 

She stood back from him at that. 

“Are you going to give up without a struggle?” 

“I’m going to have a little think,” said the out¬ 
law. “I’d rather start a fight after I’ve thought 
it out than I would to have a pardner to help me. 
Two minutes of getting ready is worth an hour of 
hard riding sometimes.” 

“I see. You don’t really care if they do catch 
you? You haven’t done anything very wrong? I* 
doesn’t mean that-” 

“A busted neck. That’s all it means.” 

“Then what he said is true?” 

“Most probable it is. Lady, I ain’t one of them 
parlor bad men that wears a bad look and a nervous 
hand. You got a lot of questions to ask me. Am 
I a downtrodden man that’s tried to right my 
wrongs and got tangled with the law? No, I ain’t. 
Am I a wild but nacherally noble heart that’s perse¬ 
cuted by the miserable world that don’t understand 
me? No, I ain’t. I’m plain Jess Dreer. Too lazy 
to work with my hands and just able to get a 
good living with my gun. That’s all. Now take 
my advice. Get out of this room and wash your 
hands of me.” 

“I don’t care what you are,” cried the girl. “I 
believe in you. There never was a scoundrel yet 
that was a truly brave man. Jess Dreer, I believe 


92 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


in yon. But quick, quick, quick. Do something! 
There’s no time. They’ve broken in the door.” 

“That’s what I been waiting for,” said the bandit, 
and he raised his great length from the chair and 
stretched himself. “Now that I got part of ’em 
inside the house they’re divided. That’s the way 
old Napoleon did, I guess.” 

“But they’re coming. I can do something. Raise 
a false alarm on the other side-” 

He broke out with a strange heartiness: 

“You’re the salt of the earth. No, don’t raise 
your hand. The fools have give me a chance, 
and I’ll take it.” 

A heavy rush of feet in the hall. A body smashed 
against the door and the room quivered. 

“Open, Mary!” 

The surprise had brought a revolver in the hand 
of Jess Dreer, and even in that dim light the girl 
saw his face change. But he instantly put up the 
gun when he saw the door would hold. 

“Now wouldn’t you think that wise gents like 
them would look before they leap? However, I 
won’t wait for ’em.” 

The door groaned under a new shock, and then 
Jess Dreer slipped his long body feet-first through 
the window and dropped to the ground. She looked 
out. He had sunk into the shadow at the base 
of the wall and had not yet been seen, and now 
she heard a brief, shrill whistle, twice repeated. 

It was answered by a snort of a horse, and in¬ 
stantly Angelina burst from the men who held her 
and plunged toward the house with flying bridle 
reins. Out from the shadow leaped Jess Dreer 



PURSUIT 


93 


to meet her. He had covered half the distance 
before he was seen and before the others could start 
their horses toward him he was in the saddle with 
a catlike bound. The four men converged on him, 
and straight toward the middle of the gap he sent 
the flying Angelina. 

He lay flat on the back of the mustang; he had 
not even drawn his revolver, so far as she could 
see. But the others galloped with naked weapons. 
One of these flashed, and on the heels of the report 
there was a shriek from one of the posse who had 
been closing in on the other side. The bullet had 
missed the enemy and struck a friend. 

It gave Jess Dreer a winking moment of a chance. 
For the shout of the hurt man and the plunge of 
his body to the ground threw the rest of the posse 
into confusion. Three horses were reined in three 
directions; Angelina rushed through the narrow gap 
between, and then Mary Valentine saw the fugitive 
strike out toward the nearest hill with three pur¬ 
suers laboring behind him. 

Each of them had a gun unlimbered; each of them 
was pumping a hail of bullets after Jess Dreer; 
but they doubly defeated themselves by that very 
eagerness. For the racking gallop ruined their 
chances to shoot true, and, sitting straight to fire, 
they could not get the best speed out of their 
horses. And in the meantime Jess Dreer was jockey¬ 
ing the cat-footed Angelina through the rough 
ground at the base of the hill. She veered and 
dodged like a dancing will-o’-the-wisp and presently 
darted around the hill into oblivion. 

The fusillade of shots had drawn the two sheriffs 


94 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


from the door of Mary Valentine’s room. She 
heard them plunging through the house, leaving a 
trail of crackling oaths behind them in lieu of 
musketry. 

Afterward she waited in her room, terrified by 
what she had done, and, though her aunt and then 
Elizabeth came and called her, she would not come 
out. 

She was spending that hour in profound thought¬ 
fulness, and her thoughts were turning on that thing 
she had cried to Jess Dreer in her excitement: 
‘There never yet was a scoundrel who was truly 
brave!” 

Had she not spoken the truth by inspiration? 

She heard the wounded man groaning as he 
was carried past her door. That was one result 
of her work, no doubt. Then she heard the posse 
returning from a fruitless chase. At this, Mary 
breathed freely for the first time. 


CHAPTER XII 


A TELLING TALE 

\V7HEN she went out at last she carried her 
* * head with a high stubbornness and walked 
bravely into the living room. Elizabeth was not 
there; she was tending the wounded man. And 
the rest of the posse was either gone home or had 
found quarters in the house. But the two sheriffs 
sat opposite each other. They scowled at Mary 
when she came in; only from Morgan Valentine 
did she receive the faint glimmer of a smile. As 
for Mrs. Valentine, she turned upon her niece a 
somber glance that betided no good. 

“A pretty night’s work for you, Mary Valentine,” 
she said. “Turning your uncle’s house into a refuge 
for outlaws—and getting a man shot. All your 
work, too, Mary. And I’d like to know what you 
got to say to Sheriff Claney—and Sheriff Caswell, 
that’s come so far all to be fooled by your doings.” 

“Hush, mother,” said Morgan Valentine. “That’s 
a little too mudi.” 

“Don’t bother about me,” said Sheriff Caswell 
gloomily. “I don’t hold no spite agin’ the young 
lady—which I never knew womenfolk yet that didn’t 
take the side of the underdog.” 

“More power to the women!” muttered Morgan 
Valentine. 

“Right!” observed Sheriff Caswell with surpris¬ 
ing calmness. “I wouldn’t wish my own girl to 


g6 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

help comer a man. No, sir. And I don’t hold no 
grudge, young lady, though you did lie most amaz¬ 
ing for that fox, Dreer.” 

Mary Valentine stood where the firelight could 
play full on her face—and there is nothing like 
firelight to bring out the luminous tenderness of a 
woman’s eyes. She cast out her hands toward the 
two men she had disappointed. 

“How could I help it?” she said. “There were 
so many of you. And he was alone!” 

They would have been more than men if they 
had not j melted to some degree. Indeed, Mary 
would have done well on the stage. 

“And yet I suppose,” she said, slipping into a 
chair, “that he’s a scoundrel; a worthless rascal!” 

Mary was not very old, and, I suppose, she 
was not very wise; but she understood that the 
way to guide a man is to oppose him. 

“Really,” she said, “the moment I looked at Jess 
Dreer I knew that he was worthless.” 

It caused Sheriff Caswell to take fire immediately, 
and inwardly she rejoiced. 

“Then you know more’n I do,” he muttered. 

“But haven’t you chased him a thousand miles?” 

“I had to. I dunno just how many thousand 
they is on his head. It ain’t the money I want, but 
if I can get rid of Jess Dreer—why, they ain’t 
much chance of another bad one ever crossing my 
trail. They’d keep clear of my country if they 
knowed that I’d run Jess Dreer to the ground.” 

Mary Valentine shivered. She gazed with open 
admiration on the sheriff. 


A TELLING TALE 


97 

“It must take courage,” she murmured, “to fol¬ 
low a cold-blooded murderer!” 

The sheriff looked at her. He was not displeased 
by her admiration, but he felt that he must put 
this very absolute young woman in her place. 

“If you call him cool,” he said, “why, I call 
him that, too. But murder is a pretty strong word. 
Man-killer he is. They ain’t any doubt about that 
But murder, I ain’t ever heard of his doing.” 

“Isn’t that a close distinction?” she said. “Is 
there much difference between a murderer and a 
man-killer ?” 

“To you, maybe not,” said the sheriff deliberately. 
“To me, they’re just about the world apart. A 
murderer is a snake that strikes for the sake of 
striking. A man-killer is one that fights when he 
has to. But Jess Dreer—why, he’ll almost take 
water before he’ll fight. That’s how mild he is.” 

She had to lower her eyes, such a warm happiness 
had come in her blood that she feared it would 
shine out in her glance. 

“For my part,” she said, “I think his mildness 
is just a sham. It looked snaky enough to me.” 

“Then,” said the sheriff, “you and me see with 
different eyes. What chance did Jess Dreer have, 
I ask you? Jud Linsey’s hoss is stole. It looks 
bad for Pete Dreer. Jud gets a crowd together. 
They put on masks and go to Dreer’s house. They 
take Pete out, and when he says he’s innocent they 
laugh at him, the case was so black agin’ him. 
They take him out, string him up, and let him 
swing. Along comes Jess Dreer and sees his father 


98 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


dead before the door of the house. He busts around 
town and finds out that Linsey done it. 

“Along about that time the real hoss thief is 
found with the goods. They bring him in. They 
ain't any doubt that old Pete Dreer was innocent 
When he was lynched, but he was such a queer, 
silent old cuss that nobody would of believed it— 
considering how black the case was agin’ him. 

“Well, Jess Dreer buries his father and then he 
goes to the sheriff and asks for justice on Jud 
Linsey. Did he get it? No! Partly because they 
wasn’t anybody that seen the lynching except them 
that was in the mob, and everybody in the mob 
was just as guilty as Jud Linsey in the eyes of 
the law. So would they talk? Would they accuse 
Jud and accuse themselves at the same time? No, 
they wasn’t any chance of that. 

“Besides, the sheriff was pretty thick with Jud 
Linsey, Jud having married his daughter. So he 
tells Jess Dreer to get out of his office and stop 
talking like a fool. 

“You see, he didn’t suspect that they was any¬ 
thing very hard about Jess. Nobody did. He’d 
been quiet as a lamb all his life. 

“So Jess Dreer leaves the sheriff and goes out 
to the saloon where Jud Linsey was. I was there at 
the bar, and I seen everything that happened. Jess 
walks in and stands there with his hands on his hips. 

“ ‘Jud Linsey/ he sings out, T’ve been to the 
sheriff and asked for the law on you. But the sheriff 
has cussed me out and told me I couldn’t come at 
you through the law. So I’m going to use my 
own hands. Linsey, I’m going to kill you/ 


A TELLING TALE 


99 


“Well, Linsey turns on his heel and has two guns 
out before you could wink, and he hits the floor 
without shooting either of them guns off. The 
reason why was because a slug out of Dreer’s gun 
had gone through his heart. 

“Now, that was what opened our eyes to Jess. 
Jud Linsey was called a quick man with his shoot¬ 
ing irons, but beside Jess that day he looked as if 
he was standing still to have his picture taken. 
After Jud drops, Jess sings out in his quiet way: 
‘Well, boys, you see what I’ve done. And I ask 
you: What other way out was there for me ?’ 

“They wasn’t any other way, and we all knowed 
it. So we didn’t^say nothing. And Jess turns his 
back and walks out without nobody lifting his hand. 
But old ‘Pike’ Malone says to me, he says: ‘Caswell, 
they’s a good man gone wrong to-day.’ 

“And Pike told the truth. The sheriff went near 
crazy when he heard about the killing of his son- 
in-law. He rides up to the house of Jess Dreer 
and calls him out and cusses him up and down and 
tells him to come with him. The sheriff was aching 
for a gun play, but Jess didn’t come halfway. He 
goes right along to the jail. 

“Then comes the trial. They was twelve fair men 
on the jury, but what could they do? It was a 
plain case of manslaughter, the easiest they could 
let Jess off. And after he heard the decision he 
busted jail. 

“The sheriff followed hotfoot; some said that 
he left the way open for Jess so that he could have 
the pleasure of dropping him with his own guns 
instead of waiting for Jess to serve his sentence. 


100 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


The sheriff runs Jess down easy—because the first 
place Jess went was home. The sheriff goes in for 
him, and the sheriff never comes out again. But 
Jess Dreer comes out and rides off on the sheriff's 
hoss. 

“They wasn’t anything for it except to start after 
him with a posse, not that any of us really wanted 
to tackle the job. But we couldn’t have our town 
put on the map as an easy place for a get-away. 
That wouldn’t do. We got our guns and climbed 
on our hosses and followed Jess Dreer for blood. 

“He’d have got away, because he has the real 
eye for a trail, and he knows how to shake any 
crowd that ever got together. But his hoss went 
lame, and we caught up with him.” 

At this point the sheriff paused, sighed, and looked 
for a long moment at the fire. 

“That was the time,” he said at length, “that Jess 
Dreer cut 'his name into the memory of the South¬ 
west—and he cut it deep. Afterward Jess Dreer 
went on, and we went back. I got this that day.” 

He touched a scar where a bullet had furrowed 
the base of his broad, tanned neck. 

“And now here I am on his trail,” said the sheriff. 
He shook his head gloomily. “I may get Jess. 
Chances are that Jess’ll get me. I ain’t got no 
grudge agin’ him. But I got to make a place for 
myself. It’s a gamble how the trail will turn 
out, but it’s a sure Idling that they don’t want a 
sheriff long down my way until they find the man 
that can get Jess Dreer. What’ve I got on my 
side? Numbers. They don’t count. You’ve just 
seen how he slides through them. What else have 


A TELLING TALE ioi 

I got? The fact that Jess has got away so often 
that maybe his luck is just about played out. 

“Eight years of luck. Pretty soon he’ll tumble. 
And—maybe—I’ll be there with a gun to catch 
him when he drops!” 

At the conclusion of this tale there was a silence; 
even Mrs. Valentine was motionless and her knit¬ 
ting needles were crossed idly for the first time 
in many an hour. But Mary, without a word, 
got up and left the room. She walked with her 
head fallen. There seemed to be a haze across 
her eyes, for when she reached the doors she fumbled 
blindly for it a moment. 

All of this Morgan Valentine saw. What passed 
through his mind it would be impossible to say, 
but when the door had closed upon his niece he said 
softly to Caswell: “Sheriff, between you and me, I 
think it’d be a pretty good idea if you didn’t talk 
no more to Mary about this Jess Dreer.” 

“Why not?” 

“If you had a house built of dead leaves,” said 
Morgan Valentine, “would you encourage folks to 
come and light matches in it?” 


CHAPTER XIII 

DARING THE POSSE 

nPHERE was no sleep for Mary Valentine when 
* she reached her room after Jess Dreer had 
escaped. She had drawn a picture by gueswork, 
and the picture had become a living thing. 

She lighted the lamp to undress. At once the 
thought of going to bed became detestable for she 
foresaw long hours of sleeplessness, twisting and 
turning from side to side. She tried to read, but 
the print tangled on the page, became a blur out 
of which grew a face and a form and a voice. 

Throwing the magazine away she tried to day¬ 
dream, but the living reality cut into the midst of 
her dream. She blew out the lamp, but the moment 
it was extinguished the pale moonlight cut into the 
room and brought back with breath-taking vividness 
the picture of Jess Dreer as he had got up from 
the chair and stretched himself before the window. 

At length she slipped into a deep chair beside 
the bed and dropped her face in her hands. Time 
cannot be measured in some moods. She could not 
tell whether it were hours or moments before there 
was a faint scratching sound outside her window, 
hut when she looked up, there sat the long body 
of Jess Dreer in the window, jet black in the 
moonlight, in the very attitude he had been in when 
he dropped for the ground. She hardly dared to 
look again, and then she heard the ghost murmur: 
‘Whist! Mary Valentine!” 


DARING THE POSSE 


103 


At that, she started up; half fearful and tingling 
with a singularly happy excitement. 

But when she ran to him his greeting was char¬ 
acteristic. 

“Well, well! Not in bed yet? Is that the way to 
treat yourself, Mary Valentine? I wouldn’t treat 
my old boss like that!” 

“Do you know that the sheriffs are still in the 
house? That they haven’t gone to bed? That 
their men are here? Do you know that, Jess 
Dreer?” 

“I scouted around a bit first and seen their bosses 
saddled like they was hesitating about giving me 
another run.” 

“And yet you came back?” 

“Not for fun,” said Dreer. 

“Come inside. They’ll see you sitting there!” 

“This is good enough for me.” 

“But if it wasn’t out of madness, what was it 
that brought you back?” 

“Common sense. They’ll hunt for me to-morrow 
over the hills. I’ll be riding off the other way.” 

“You’re doubling on them. But Salt Spring 
lies the other way, and they’re sure to comb the 
district around the town. They always do. The 
amateurs start by looking near home.” 

“They’re more generally right than the profes¬ 
sionals, then. But Caswell is one of these crafty 
fellows. He starts right in to get inside my mind, 
find out What I’m thinking about, and then outguess 
me.” He laughed softly. “Caswell follers me as if 
he was a general; as if I was an army with a 


104 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


board of strategy—and here I am, plain Jess Dreer. 
All I do is to act simple, and that always fools him.” 

“Listen to me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Jess Dreer, why have you come back?” 

“Partly Pve told you why. Partly because I 
left in such a terrible hurry that I forgot some¬ 
thing. After all you done for me, I plumb forgot to 
thank you. So I come back to tell you now that 
you’re the finest girl I’ve ever knowed, Mary Val¬ 
entine.” 

“Hush!” she whispered. And to cover her emo¬ 
tion, and the tremor of her voice, she added: “Isn’t 
that some one listening at the door?” 

“Not a soul. They ain’t anybody near. And 
they’s another reason why I had to come back. 
Like as not you’ll be hearing considerable talk about 
me the next few days. You’ll be hearing about 
Jess Dreer the murderer, Jess Dreer the gambler, 
Jess Dreer, the robber, Jess Dreer the no-good 
hound. Well, mostly I don’t care what people 
think about me after I’ve gone by. My trail 
fades out, and what they think about me don’t 
reach my ears, so why should I care? But 
this is different.” 

He turned more fully toward her and looked up. 
She could see him frown with the effort of hard 
thought. 

“I ain’t much good with words. I’m out of prac¬ 
tice, too. But this is the way I feel. When I 
come to this house I struck soft dirt, and I’ve 
left a trail that’s going to last. I mean—I mean 


DARING THE POSSE 


105 

—I got an idea that maybe you won’t forget me 
for quite a while, you see?” 

He spoke very apologetically. 

“I shall never forget you,” said the girl. 

He paused. 

“No,” he said carefully, “I don’t think you ever 
will.” 

It would have been disgusting assurance on the 
part of another man; but it seemed perfectly natural 
coming from Jess Dreer. 

“And here’s the way I feel,” he went on, “that 
if ever you should get your head filled full of wrong 
ideas about me, I’d know it if I was a thousand 
miles away. I’d know it, and I’d feel like some 
one had stuck a knife in me—and then—turned the 
knife. It would hurt, you see?” 

She could not answer. 

“Maybe this’ll sound all foolish to you,” said 
Jess Dreer, “but what I say now I say because 
you’re the first human being that’s ever gone a 
step out of his way to help me since the law turned 
me out. You took a chance. You risked some¬ 
thing. You got me a chance to get clear. And 
so what I say now I say for you and God and me to 
hear. That’s a fact! 

“I ain’t going to pile up a lot of excuses. All 
I say is this: That first a wrong was done, and that 
I took the law into my own hands, and then the 
law threw me out. And since that time, no matter 
what liars say, I’ve never lifted my hand except 
to defend myself. They’s another thing. I’ve took 
the money of other people. I’ll tell you why. When 
they run me away from my home, they run me 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


106 

away from my own cattle and my own land. It 
was a good paying ranch and I figure that the 
world owes me as much as I’d have made clear 
off that ranch. And that’s what I take every year 
—or less. And I’ve never yet taken it from nobody 
who couldn’t afford to lose it. Mostly I’ve taken 
it across card tables, but some—I’ve taken at the 
end of a gun.” 

He paused. 

Suddenly she was aware that he was in an 
agony; that he had spoken in an agony; that 
he sat now, waiting in a silent torment, for her 
judgment. And a great humility rushed over Mary 
Valentine. An ache came in the hollow of her 
throat. And somehow—she herself did not know 
how—she had taken both his hands. 

“I’m talking the same way,” she said, “for you 
and God to hear me; and I swear that I’ll never 
believe harm of you, Jess Dreer.” 

He raised her hands suddenly to his face; her 
finger tips touched hot, pounding pulses in his tem¬ 
ples; and his hands were quivering. 

“God bless you!” he said. 

Was it possible that he had kissed her hands? 

“For eight years I’ve been riding on a lone trail,” 
said Jess Dreer. “I’ve had the spur dug into me 
for eight years. And a spur leaves scars. And 
now, for the first time, I’ve reached a stopping 
place.” 

“If you can stay,” she was whispering, “oh, Jess, 
we’ll find a way to clear you!” 

“Girl, you don’t know men! But wherever I may 


DARING THE POSSE 107 

go on the outtrail, night and morning, I’ll send 
my thoughts back to you/' 

“Are you going? No, no! Not yet. I have 
something to say—I-” 

She could not finish the sentence. 

“But if you should ever need me; then send for 
me. I’m a gambler, as I’ve said. And they’s a 
string of places through the mountains where they 
know me. In Salt Springs they’s one. Dan Carrol 
knows me, and he can get word to me wherever 
I am—by underground wires. Good-by.” 

“Not yet, Jess.” 

“It ain’t right for me to stay. Is there some¬ 
thing troubling you, girl?” 

At length she said: “Go now; quickly.” 

He stared at her in wonder. She stood erect; 
her face was buried in her hands. And then Jes& 
Dreer slipped down from the window. 

Afterward, she cried out, or thought she cried 
out, but he did not turn again. After a while she 
saw him pass on Angelina over the top of the hill, 
and across the moon. 



CHAPTER XIV 


THE LUCKY SHOT 

X TEXT to the rooster in the chicken yards, the cook 
^ is generally the first living thing to waken on a 
ranch. Even during the short nights and long days 
of early summer he is in his kitchen while the dawn 
is still cfhilly and gray. Bu.t on the ranch of Morgan 
Valentine there was always one person up even be¬ 
fore the cook began to rattle at the lids of his big 
stove, and that person was the owner. He was like 
one of those old-fashioned skippers who keeps only 
one eye closed even during the dogwatch. Usually 
Morgan Valentine employed the early hour in a walk 
among the ranch buildings. He enjoyed that morn¬ 
ing stroll while the light grew brighter and brighter 
on the mountaintops and the mists became thin in 
the lower valleys. Each day he watched his big 
domain unroll before his eye, and the first pride 
of the possessor flowed back upon him. 

But this morning he went into the living room 
and knocked up a fire over the coals which remained 
from the night before. It burned poorly. There 
were charred ends of logs from which the smolder¬ 
ing heat had been eating the life all night, and now 
they glowed like charcoal, but would not flame. A 
thick smoke rose toward the chimney, and some 
of it rolled out and curled around the mantelpiece 
and filled the room with pungent scent. 

Morgan Valentine remained hanging over this 


THE LUCKY SHOT 


109 


dreary blaze. A man, if fifty, is generally fat 
enough to content himself with the present, but 
when he turns back to the past it is dangerous. And 
Valentine was thinking of the past. There had 
been something in Jess Dreer which made him 
reminiscent of the days when he and his brother 
became empire builders in this valley. Sitting before 
the fire, the rancher recalled how the tall man had 
sat back in the shadow and watched the others with 
bright, uneasy eyes. Like a wild animal, thought 
Valentine, which has come out of the night, and 
even in captivity carries with it an air of the 
freedom of the outer spaces. 

That was the thing which tormented him. Jess 
Dreer was free. Free and penniless, no doubt, 
but freedom was worth poverty. Here was he, 
the rich man, tied down by his wealth. What had 
it brought him except an unloved wife and children 
who were hardly more than names to him? To Jess 
Dreer the whole mountain desert was synonymous 
with the word “home.” 

There was something infinitely attractive to Val¬ 
entine in the character of the outlaw. There was 
an honesty—if that word could be used with a 
thief—that drew the rancher as he had never been 
drawn before to any man except his dead brother. 

Some one was coughing in the hall; he recognized 
his wife even before she appeared in the door. 

“Why, Morgan, I thought the house was on fire,” 
she said, and straightway she went to a window 
and opened it. “The house was that full of smoke, ,? 
she added, coughing again. 

He returned no answer to this, but kicked the 


no THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

log fragments again, and this time a yellow tongue 
of fire leaped out and hung for a moment quivering 
in the mist of smoke as though it had a life of its 
own. After that, the blaze began, and the smoke 
diminished. There had been a touch of irritation 
in that kick at the smoldering wood, but now he 
was able to turn his usual calm face toward his 
wife. 

“You look kind of tired,” he said kindly. 

“How could I look any other way after last 
night.” 

“Bear up for a little while, mother. Mary is 
leaving in a few days and then you can have a 
long rest.” 

Maude Valentine regarded her husband critically. 
She had studied this silent man with profound at¬ 
tention for many years and knew less about him 
now than she had at the beginning. 

“I been thinking something,” she said slowly, and 
folded her hands before her. “After Mary goes, 
every time you miss her, you’ll look to me and be 
angry.” 

“I’m never angry, mother.” 

At this a little spot of color came up in each 
cheek. 

“I wish you’d talk straight out to me once in a 
while, Morgan. I wish you’d talk man talk to 
me now and then.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, but she went on in 
spite of this danger sign: “Even if you was to 
storm at me, Morgan, I’d like it better than—this!” 

“I try to be kind, mother.” 

“Kind?” she said. “Kind?” And there was a 


THE LUCKY SHOT 


iii 


breathless little check in her voice. It suddenly 
occurred to the man that she was acting as if she 
had been enduring for a long time and had now 
reached the limit of her strength. He braced him¬ 
self with that chilly feeling in his back which a 
man usually has when he faces the hysteria of a 
woman. 

“Well,” she said at length, so calmly that his 
nerves gradually began to relax, “we won’t talk 
any more about her. We’ll talk about—you, Mor¬ 
gan.” 

And she made a step toward him as timid as a 
girl approaching her new lover who has not yet 
completed his avowal. Now and then a sort of 
youthful beauty would flush across this middle-aged 
woman’s face. 

“Just now T ,” said he, “I’d kind of like to talk 
about her. You ain’t apt to admire her, mother, 
but you got to admit that what she did last night 
was pretty fine.” 

Maude Valentine blinked. 

“Fine?” she gasped. “Getting a murdering out¬ 
law away from a sheriff. Fine?” 

“Two sheriffs,” corrected her husband grimly. 

“Are you laughing at me, Morgan?” 

“I mean, she took a bad job off my hands, 
-nother.” 

“Off your hands?” 

“Would you of had me let them take my guest 
under my roof, when he come here by my invita¬ 
tion ?” 

She found no ready answer to this, but neverthe¬ 
less she instinctively shook her head. 


112 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“If it hadn’t been for Mary, I’d of had to stand 
back to back with that Jess Dreer and fought ’em 
off.” 

He sighed. 

“I think we’d of cleaned ’em up. Then it would 
of meant that I’d be riding this minute beside Jess 
Dreer on the long outtrail, no matter where it 
takes him, and every man’s hand agin’ us. That’s 
what it would of meant.” 

“Morgan, I actually believe that you almost re¬ 
gret it!” 

“Sometimes—I dunno. But it’s Mary that’s kept 
me here.” 

“Ah, but you don’t look down deep and get the 
reasons why she done it, dear. Do you know what 
they were?” 

“Well?” 

She bore the patient, neglectful tone. 

“Because she saw that Dreer was paying a lot 
of attention to Elizabeth. She was not being talked 
to. She was jealous! That’s the whole fact of it!” 

“Maude,” said her husband after a moment of 
silence, “here comes the sheriffs. Maybe you better 
meet ’em and make ’em at home.” 

At that, she regretted what she had said, for she 
saw the mouth of Morgan Valentine setting in a 
way she knew very well. But he had closed the 
conversation too definitely and pointedly for her 
to attempt to reopen it. 

The sheriffs were at least good losers. They made 
only laughing comments on their futile chase of 
Jess Dreer the night before. And they kept up the 
same cheery talk all during the breakfast. When 


THE LUCKY SHOT 


ii3 

Mary Valentine came down with Elizabeth beside 
her, they neither frowned at the girl who had broken 
through their trap nor openly reproached her. If 
any one were estranged by the events of the night 
before, it seemed, oddly enough, to be the three 
women. For Elizabeth studiously avoided the eye 
of Mary and paid strict attention to eating, and as 
for Maude Valentine, it seemed that her niece was 
not in the room for all the attention that she paid 
her. 

Charlie and Louis were full of open admiration 
for the manner in which the outlaw had broken 
through. 

“But it must of been a lucky shot that he got 
in,” said Charlie. “It ain’t hardly likely that it 
was aimed, the shot that dropped Sam.” 

“D’you see where it hit him?” asked Sheriff John 
Caswell, raising his head at this point in the con¬ 
versation. 

“Clean through the thigh. He’ll be on his feet 
ag’in inside three weeks and riding after Jess Dreer.” 

At this the sheriff smiled pityingly. 

“Son,” he said, “Claney tells me you’re kind of 
handy with a gun yourself; but you fasten onto 
this. If Dreer had wanted to kill Sam he would 
of done it. That was an aimed shot, son. And 
don’t make no mistake.” 

“But it was night, Mr. Caswell, and besides, he 
was on a galloping boss.” 

“Sure he was, but all Dreer needs is enough 
light to see what he’s shooting at. He’s a snap 
shot, son, and he shoots with a gun the way other 
men point with their finger. No, sir; he planted 


THE LOiNG, LONG TRAIL 


114 

that shot on purpose not to kill Sam, but to drop 
him off’n his hoss. And here’s another thing. Sam 
won’t take the trail after Jess as soon as he can 
ride a hoss ag’in. Not him! It’s a queer thing, 
but them that’s ever faced Jess don’t generally have 
any hankering to see him ag’in. And them that’s 
seen him swing a gun jest natcherally lose all appe¬ 
tite for seeing the same show all over ag’in.” 

“But you’ve been on the trail a long time, sheriff,” 
said Charlie. 

“It’s different with me, son. I’ll tell you how 
it is. Jess Dreer has made a fool out of me more 
times than you can count on your two fingers. And 
I don’t mind much of anything except to have a 
man laugh at me. Well, they’s been other men 
take after Jess that was a heap smarter men than 
I’ll ever be, and they’s been some that was faster 
fighters and straighter shots. Jess has fooled ’em 
all. He may keep right on fooling me, but he’ll 
never shake me off’n his trail. I stay there till I 
come up with him and one of us goes down. 
I ain’t fast, I ain’t smart, but I’m a tolerable patient 
man, son. Tolerable patient!” 

For some reason there was little talk at the break¬ 
fast table after this moment. 


CHAPTER XV 


ADDED DANGER 

TT was the patient man who said to Sheriff Claney 
* of Salt Springs, a little later: “Claney, have you 
been looking around over the ground this morning ?” 

“What ground, Caswell?” 

“Around the house, where Dreer got away.” 

“Yep. I ran over a little of the sign.” 

“What’d you think about it?” 

“It was all pretty clear reading, I thought. I seen 
the place where he dropped out of the window 
and camped for a minute waiting, before he whis¬ 
tled to that hoss of his, that Angelina you’re always 
talking about.” 

“I’ll tell you something then, pardner. They’s 
some new sign this morning. Something added on 
top of what they was last night. I seen where that 
long-stepping Angelina went away—and I seen 
where she come back.” 

“Dreer came back?” 

“Unless that hoss traveled alone, which ain’t likely, 
I’d say.” 

Sheriff Claney cursed fluently. 

“He come back to the house, with you and me 
inside it?” 

“Yep, with you and me inside it, asleep. And 
he didn’t only come back and look things over. He 
come back and went inside the house.” 

Claney gasped. “Are you sure?” 


ii6 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Positive certain. And now, Claney, I think my 
hard work is over.” 

“How comes that?” 

“It’s the first time that ever Dreer took a back 
step on a trail. IPs the first time that ever he took 
a useless chance. What was they for him to gain 
by coming back here?” 

“Nothing except to sass us.” 

“Dreer wouldn’t even sass a two-year-old kid. 
It means that he ain’t the same man that he used 
to be. It means that he ain’t working alone. Well, 
Claney, you know it’s a hundred times easier to 
catch two men that travels together than it is to 
catch one.” 

“I don’t foller you, pardner.” 

“I don’t mean that they’s really another man wit'll 
Jess Dreer. What I mean is that he’s found some¬ 
thing in this house that he came back to. And I’d 
even talk up and say what it is.” 

“Well?” 

“It’s the black-haired girl, I figure.” 

“And if he come back to her once he’ll come back 
to her ag’in. It’s his nature.” 

“Soft on women?” 

“Never looked twice at one before, so far as I 
know. That’s why I’m sure that this means some¬ 
thing. Dreer has played a lone hand, but now that 
he’s got somebody besides himself to think about, 
he’s lost. Claney, you write this down in red and 
remember it, as sure as they’s rain and sunshine 
I’m going to get Jess Dreer, and where I get him 
ain’t going to be far away from this house.” 


ADDED DANGER n 7 

“You’re going to camp here and wait for him 
to come back?” asked Claney, smiling. 

“I’m going to camp near here,” replied the sheriff 
from the southland, “and I’m going to wait. Time 
and the black-haired girl, Claney, will win for me 
in the end.” 

And the two men parted. 

It happened that at this moment Charlie Valen¬ 
tine and his brother Louis were standing on the 
veranda together and overlooking this scene. 

“What beats me,” said Charlie, “is the idea of a 
gent like this Caswell taking a crack at Jess Dreer. 
Why, big Dreer would bust him in two with one 
hand.” 

“I dunno,” replied Louis in his mild way, “they’s 
something about Caswell. Speaking personal, I’d 
sort of hate to have him on my trail.” 

“That’s another one of your hunches,” Charlie 
said in good-natured banter. And they watched the 
two sheriffs ride side by side up the road. 

They had hardly disappeared around the hill when 
another horseman galloped into view from the op¬ 
posite direction. 

“It’s Tom Waite,” said Charlie Valentine after 
a moment. 

“How d’you tell?” asked his brother. 

“By the way he rides, slanting. They ain’t any¬ 
body has the same seat as Tommy.” 

“Well, murmured Louis, “I’ll tell you another 
thing. Tom Waite is bringing us bad news.” 

“And how d’you tell that.” 

Louis Valentine scratched his head. 

“I dunno, Charlie. Look at the way he keeps 


ii8 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

his head down and the brim of his hat blowing 
across his eyes. Take a gent that's just riding, and 
he'd be riding with his head up. But Tom comes 
as if he was trying to get away from something 
behind him." 

His brother looked askance at Louis. He con¬ 
stantly felt his superiority as the better fighter, 
stronger man, sharper wit; but all of these quali¬ 
ties were being continually discounted by a singu¬ 
lar power in Louis. It might have been called sec¬ 
ond sight, these odd premonitions. It often made 
him laughed at, ridiculed; but there was an under¬ 
current of respect for the superstitions of the 
youngest Valentine. For instance, though he was 
a capable bronchobuster he had been known several 
times to refuse positively to mount a horse con¬ 
sidered by no means dangerous; and it had been 
noted, on these occasions, that the horse was ex¬ 
ceedingly apt to develop a bad streak after Louis 
Valentine refused to take the saddle. Not that 
Louis was considered a prophet, but he was widely 
known as “a gent that's got hunches." 

Accordingly, Charlie looked sidewise at his 
younger brother on this day and frowned uneasily. 
Indeed, the prophecy was instantly verified, for Tom 
Waite ran up the steps and came to a panting halt 
before them. He wasted no words. 

“Charlie, you're going to Salt Springs to-mor¬ 
row?" 

“Yep. To get that saddle I won at the bucking 
contest last month." 

“Then lemme give you some advice. Keep awa}' 


ADDED DANGER 


119 

from Salt Springs to-morrow. Keep right here at 
home. It ain’t healthy for you to go into town.” 

The brothers exchanged significant glances, but 
Louis showed no pleasure at seeing his “hunch” 
come true. 

“Talk sharp, Tom,” said the elder of the Valen¬ 
tine boys. “What’s up?” 

“The Normans are up,” replied Tom Waite, draw¬ 
ing his first easy breath after the ride and the run 
up the steps. 

“That news ain’t altogether news.” 

“Not about the Normans at the ranch, but now 
they’s another twist to things.” 

“Go ahead. Are they going to mob me when I 
come in?” 

“Some say that the Normans was thinking of that 
very thing, but they found out mighty quick that 
around Salt Springs we wouldn’t stand for any 
crowd jumping on one man. No matter what you’ve 
done, Charlie—and between you and me they’s a 
good many think you’re too free with a gun play— 
but no matter what you’ve done it’s always been 
man to man, a clean break, and a fair chance all 
around.” 

“Thanks, Tommy.” 

“Oh, I’m with you, solid enough; and they’s a 
lot more of us younger gents that’s all behind you. 
But with some of the older men it’s different. They 
figure that you’ve got a lesson coming, or some¬ 
thing like that. The long and short of it is, Char¬ 
lie, that if somebody was to jump you single-handed, 
they wouldn’t be many men that would go out to 
help you.” 


120 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“Thanks again,” remarked Charlie coldly. “I don’t 
ask for no help agin’ one man, Tommy. ,, 

At this, the young fellow shook his head. 

“They’s men and men,” he said, with a probably 
quoted wisdom. “Stack you up agin’ a common 
kind of fighter, and you’d come off first rate. But 
they’s some that makes a business of fighting. Even 
with most of them you’d have a good chance, Char¬ 
lie, because you’ve got a good idea of the hang of 
a gun. You shoot fast, and you shoot straight. You 
got plenty of nerve, too. But they’s some you 
wouldn’t have a chance agin’. And the Normans 
have found a gent like that.” 

“What’s his name? What’s the name of this 
pet murderer of theirs?” asked Charlie, sneering, 
but a little white about the lips. 

“Hired murderer is the right thing to call him,” 
said Tom Waite. “And his name is Jud Boone!” 

He paused, expectant, and the results were not 
such as would disappoint him. The pallor which 
had begun on the face of Charlie now swept com¬ 
pletely over it. Yet he maintained a steady front 
while Louis Valentine, as though it were he whom 
the danger threatened, fairly collapsed against the 
railing of the veranda and stared at Tom Waite. 

For the name of Jud Boone was far known and 
known as a man of evil. A fighter and gamester 
by instinct and profession, he was one of those men 
about whose past few know many details, but re¬ 
garding whom there is a general murmur of sus¬ 
picion. One death near Salt Springs was charged 
already to his account, but that one killing was the 


ADDED DANGER 121 

sort whose mention would strike a whole circle of 
men silent. 

“Seems he’s some sort of relation to the Nor¬ 
mans, and they’ve looked him up. I suppose they’ve 
paid him a bunch of money. Anyway, there’s gos¬ 
sip around the town that the plan is for Jud Boone 
to be somew'heres around Carrol’s saloon when 
you go in there for the saddle. And then, of 
course, he’ll pick a fight. So the thing for you to 
do is to stay home, Charlie.” 

The latter stood motionless. Plainly he was badly 
frightened, but he had not yet made up his mind. 
It seemed that Louis was in fear of some rash 
decision. 

“Don’t be a fool, now,” he pleaded. “Do what 
Tommy says!” 

“I dunno,” muttered Charlie. “I know I got no 
chance agin’ a man like Jud Boone. But—since 
folks expect me to be in Salt Springs to-morrow 
—if I stay home-” 

“Folks will say you got good sense, that’s all.” 

“I got to see dad about that,” replied Charlie. 

He led the others into the house, and finding 
his father, he related to him briefly the news which 
Tom Waite had brought. In the distance Mrs. 
Valentine heard and said nothing save with her eyes. 



CHAPTER XVI 


THE WAY OUT 

THIRST thing,” said Morgan Valentine, when the 
* story was completed, “is this: How d’you 
feel about it yourself, Charlie?” 

His son was disturbed and showed it. 

“I dunno,” he said cautiously, and he watched 
his father with troubled eye. “Point is, if I don’t 
go in, folks maybe will think I’m afraid of Jud 
Boone.” 

“You’d be a fool if you weren’t,” answered his 
father. “I know Jud Boone. I’ve seen him work. 
I’m afraid of him myself.” 

“Then you think I’m right to stay home?” And 
Charlie sighed, immensely relieved. 

“I leave it to you,” said his father with his usual 
unperturbed manner. “When it comes to life and 
death every man is his own best judge.” 

“If he was an ordinary kind of man,” com¬ 
plained Charlie, “I’d take a chance as quick as any¬ 
body. But a professional murderer-” He shud¬ 

dered. “You say you’re afraid of him, and I guess 
it ain’t wrong for me to say the same thing.” 

“All right, son. You stay here to-morrow, and 
I’ll go in and get the saddle for you.” 

“Dad, if you go, they’ll most likely take it out 
on you!” 

“Most likely they’d try to.” 



THE WAY OUT 


123 


“And you’ve already said that you wouldn’t like 
to meet Jud Boone.” 

“I wouldn’t like to, but I’d do it.” 

Silence fell on the group. Charlie Valentine 
moistened his colorless lips. 

“I’ll tell you something,” went on the father in 
his calm manner, which had now a deadly interest 
for the younger men. “One time my brother John 
got mixed up with a ruffian in the early days.” 

He paused to collect his thoughts, and the hush 
upon the others became deeper; for when Morgan 
Valentine, once in a year, mentioned the name of 
his brother, it became a breathless moment. 

“I forget the name of the gun fighter. He was 
a gent with his notches in his gun—and he was 
the kind that talked about ’em. Well, John crossed 
him. The gunman was drunk, and he was too 
clever to fight while he was drunk. He waited till 
he was all sobered up and then he sent word to 
John that he was waiting for him. 

“I was with John when the news came. 

“Well, John waited for an hour or so, thinking. 
Then he sat down and wrote out his will as good 
as any lawyer could have done. Then he climbed 
on his horse and went down to the town. I tried 
to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me. 

“He didn’t come back that night. I waited until 
dark and then I follered him. When I come to 
town it was full of the fight. John had met the 
gunman, and the gunman had beat him to the draw. 
He knocked John down with the first bullet through 
the shoulder—the left shoulder. And while he lay 
on the floor he shot John again, and the bullet 


124 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


ripped up the flesh along his ribs. But John lay 
there and lifted his own gun, slow, took a good 
aim, and then he fired. That bullet went through 
the gunman’s heart.” 

There was a pause, but no one spoke, for it was 
evident from the lifted, tense face of Morgan Val¬ 
entine that he would speak again. 

At length: “When I see John, he was pretty 
badly done up. He took my hand. "Thank Heaven 
it’s over, Morgan/ he says to me. I says: "John, 
it was a glorious thing to do. The whole town 
is talking about how brave you are/ 

“ "It wasn’t bravery. It was fear/ says John. "I 
was afraid of that fellow as if he was death. But 
I’m more afraid of shame than I am of death.’ 

‘"I ain’t asking you to follow the example of 
John, Charlie. I’m simply showing you the way 
one man faced the same sort of thing that you’ve 
got to face.” 

Charlie was white, as though the bullet of Jud 
Boone had already pierced him. 

""All right,” he said huskily, ""then I’ll-” 

""Don’t make up your mind now,” said his father 
gently. ‘"Go off and sit down by yourself and think 
it over. If you go into Salt Springs you’ll meet 
Jud Boone. If you meet him, the chances are one 
out of four that you’ll kill him and four to one 
that he’ll kill you. You’re a young man, Charlie. 
You got a lot of things ahead of you. It’s hard 
to pay that price. But keep this thing in your head, 
too. That if you don’t meet Jud Boone, the time 
may come, sooner or later, when you’ll have another 
thing to face. It may be different. And when that 



THE WAY OUT 


125 


time comes you may say to yourself, Ts it worth it? 
Is what people may say about me worth the money 
that I'll have to pay to keep my name clean?' And 
you may remember how you kept away from Jud 
Boone and then lived down the shame of it. But 
go off by yourself and think this thing out." 

He left them, and the moment he was gone, Mrs. 
Valentine, staggering, ran to her oldest son. 

“You ain't going to go, Charlie. Oh, tell me you 
ain't going to go?" 

He pushed her away, almost rudely. 

“You take my nerve when you talk like that," 
he said. “Gimme a chance to play the man, mother! 
Gimme a Chance to think it over!" 

He went his way, and Mrs. Valentine, after stand¬ 
ing a moment with her hands clasped, looking after 
him, cast a frantic glance over Tom Waite and 
Louis, and then hurried from the room. 

She had remembered that source of comfort which 
had many times aided her in her problems with 
advice keen and to the point even if it came out 
of a younger head. In a word, she went to the 
room of Mary Valentine, and there she found not 
only Mary, but her daughter Elizabeth. They had 
been laughing together, whispering over some small 
secret. They started up at the sight of the smaller 
woman. Mrs. Valentine hardly saw her daughter. 

“Mary," she said, “I’ve got to see you alone." 

And Mary took Elizabeth to the door and then 
faced her aunt, turning slowly and nerving her¬ 
self as if for a shock. Not that there was an 
actual anger existing between the two, but each 
was from a separate world, and they always looked 


126 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


on one another as from a distance. Mary, now, 
was forcing a faint smile of interest, but Mrs. Val¬ 
entine was too distressed to even pretend to dis¬ 
guise her emotion. 

“Like as not,” she said, and her voice was softer 
than her words were bitter. “Like as not Eliza¬ 
beth has been telling you things that only her mother 
should know.” 

“I give you my word, Aunt Maude, that if there 
were anything really important about it, I’d tefl 
you myself.” 

The wan smile of Aunt Maude had no mirth in it. 

“It’s the same with Elizabeth as it is with the 
boys. You come first, Mary. And you come first 
with—Morgan—I think.” 

“Hush! Hush! What are you saying?” 

“A man likes spirit. Decision. All the things 
that you have and that I haven’t.” 

“Aunt Maude!” 

“It’s true. You see, I’ve watched and under¬ 
stood. They come to me just to be around. But 
when it’s a big happiness or maybe a secret or 
maybe a sorrow—then they go to you. As if they 
felt I couldn’t hold a big thing.” 

“I’m only a shock absorber. I simply take the 
shock of silly things that would bother you.” 

“Ah, Mary,” said Mrs. Valentine, and she made 
a singular gesture of drawing imperceptible things 
toward her heart. “Don’t you know that a mother 
wants to be troubled by them that she loves ? 
You’ll know some day, Mary. The treasures of a 
woman are the troubles that her family bring to 


THE WAY OUT 127 

her. It's her secret life. I've got no such life, 
Mary! They pass by me. They go to you!” 

Mary Valentine watched the head of her aunt 
bow with grief. She made a little movement as 
though she would go to her and strive to cherish 
her, but the movement was checked. Between the 
two was a barrier which even the smiles of Mary 
and all her ways could not break down. 

“I don’t complain,” said her aunt faintly. “After 
all, I suppose it’s the call of blood to blood. 
You 1 ’re a Valentine—and I’m just about—nothing. 
I’m on the outside. 

“But I haven’t come to rake up old troubles. I 
dunno why I always say these things to you, Mary. 
You’ve been fair and square to me, honey. You’ve 
never gone about behind my back. You’ve never 
repeated things. You’ve never tried to make bad 
blood between me and the rest. And Lord knows 
you could of done it many’s the time. They ain f t 
a small part about you, Mary. And—and now I’ve 
come the way Elizabeth comes to you, and the way 
Morgan comes to you, and the way Charlie and 
Louis come to you. I’ve come to ask for your 
help, Mary!” 

After what she had said before, there could not 
have been a sadder confession. 

“It’s about Charlie. The old trouble that started 
over Joe Norman. Now the Normans have hired 
Jud Boone, and he’s going to lay for Charlie when 
Charlie goes into Salt Springs to get the prize 
saddle to-morrow.” 

“Then it all comes back to me. It was for my 
sake that Charlie fought Joe Norman.” 


128 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“But I’m not casting that in your face. I’m oniy 
asking you what we can do, Mary.” 

“Sit down. You’re all of a tremble. Sit down 
—here—let me hold your hands. Is that better?” 

“Yes. You sort of steady me, Mary.” 

“I’ll tell you what we must do. We must keep 
Charlie at home.” 

“I thought of that. Everybody thought of that 
first thing. But—Morgan won’t 'have it that way.” 

“His own father!” 

“He says it’s better to die than to be shamed.” 

“Ah, that sounds like him! But—I’ll go and 

try to persuade him.” 

At this, Aunt Maude winced. 

“You could always do more with him than any¬ 
body else could, Mary. But this time you can’t 
budge Morgan. Because he’s following an example.” 

“Whose?” 

“Your father’s, dear.” 

The girl was silent. 

“But you’ll try to think of something to do, 
Mary? You’ll try to find some way to keep Char¬ 
lie from Jud Boone? Ain’t there anybody among 
all the men you know that would help Charlie? 
You could ask some one—Morgan wouldn’t lift his 
finger to get help.” 

Mary Valentine sat very stiff and straight in her 
chair and stared fixedly at her window, as though 
she saw a ghost forming against the bright rec¬ 
tangle. 

“I’ve thought of a thing to do,” she said at last. 
“It won’t be easy. Maybe it won’t work. But— 
I’ll try!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


.WHEN EVERYTHING WAS QUIET 

OILENCE lay over the house of Morgan Val- 
^ entine. No one had asked Charlie for his 
ultimate decision, but Louis stole down to the fam¬ 
ily that afternoon and reported that Charlie was in 
his room upstairs working busily over two revolv¬ 
ers, oiling them, cleaning them, testing their balance 
with nervous care. 

That report was more forcible than the most vio¬ 
lent affirmation, on the part of young Valentine, 
of his determination to face Jud Boone and fight 
him man to man. Even the hand of Morgan Val¬ 
entine was unsteady as he lighted his pipe. His 
wife had dropped her head upon her hands with 
a moan; and Elizabeth cried out. 

One would have thought that a death had been 
announced. 

But as for Mary, she still turned in her mind 
the gambling chance which she had determined 
to take. It was no less than a purpose of leaving 
the house and going to Salt Springs to speak 
with Dan Carrol and through him send to the out¬ 
law, Jess Dreer, an appeal for help. 

Yet it was not easy to do this. If she stated 
that she wished to go to town, some one of the 
family would accompany her; and if she wished 
to see Dan Carrol, questions would certainly be 
asked. For the repute of Carrol was a sooty thing 


130 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

and contaminated all who touched him. Even if 
she slipped away during the day and reached Salt 
Springs unknown to the family, it would be impos¬ 
sible to see Carrol without letting half of Salt 
Springs know to whom she made her visit. Not 
that she really cared what public opinion murmured 
about her, but if her visit were a public matter 
there was very little chance that Carrol would tell 
her where she could find Jess Dreer. 

It was a trip that must be completed between 
dark and dawn, and for this she laid her plans. 

One thing favored her. The family did not sit 
up late in the living room, for it was a gloomy 
matter to stare from face to face and read in each 
eye the same forboding which filled one’s own mind. 
Mrs. Valentine, close to tears, was the first to leave. 
Then Charlie, who had remained white-faced, sul¬ 
lenly defiant, apparently decided that he dare not 
risk the complete breakdown of his nerves. He 
rose, muttered his good night* huskily, and hurried 
from the room. 

The others trooped away one by one, leaving 
Morgan Valentine alone beside the fire. The report 
of Louis had made him show one touch of emo¬ 
tion, but neither before nor since had he appeared 
to be in the slightest degree concerned. 

As soon as she was in her room Mary hurried 
into her riding clothes before she put out the light 
and crept into bed. For she feared that visitors 
might come. And they did. First, Elizabeth. And 
then Mrs. Valentine came in and leaned over 
her. But when she heard the regular breathing 
she apparently decided that the girl was asleep. She 


WHEN EVERYTHING WAS QUIET 131 

leaned and touched Mary’s forehead with her lips 
and then stole from the room. 

Mary was deeply moved, for it had been years 
since her aunt had showed any true affection. And 
when, a little after this, the house was quiet, she 
got up, pressed her hat on her head, and slipped 
out by the rear of the house. Five minutes later 
she was speeding down the road on her sturdy lit¬ 
tle Morgan mare, docile as a pet dog and durable 
as leather. 

Midnight brought her to Salt Springs, with the 
dust of the street squirting up around the hoofs 
of the mare. She rode on between the rows of 
black, silent houses until she was close to Carrol’s 
place. Then she swung her horse between two 
dwellings and came out directly in the rear of the 
big saloon. 

The midnight of Salt Springs was the noon of 
Dan Carrol. His saloon burst with light and voices, 
and through the open windows, across the shafts 
of light, clouds of tobacco smoke rose, cut briefly 
away by the darkness. 

But how could she come to Dan Carrol? 

A man came to the screen door at the rear of 
the building and opened it. She saw the faint arc 
of light as he tossed his cigarette butt away. 

“Halloo!” called Mary, roughening her voice. 
“Send Danny out to me, will you?” 

“Can’t you walk?” cried the man, who apparently 
did not recognize the voice of a woman. “Go get 
him yourself, son.” 

She waited. A skulking figure slipped out of the 
darkness and hurried across the open toward the 


1 3 2 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


gaming Louse. She reined her mare across and 
touched his shoulder with her quirt. At that, the 
man leaped sidewise, very agile. He was a small 
fellow. 

“Pardner,” said Mary, “I’ve got a word to say 
Jo Dan Carrol. Will you take it in to him?” 

“Me?” said a harsh, shrill voice, the voice of a 
Chinaman. “Dan Carrol ?” 

“Never mind,” and she reined her horse back, for 
she had recognized the accent of Kong Li, her 
father’s cook. 

This was the explanation, then, of Kong’s periods 
of sudden affluence and sudden poverty. But now 
the little man followed her. 

“Never mind,” she repeated. “I don’t need you!” 

“Miss Mary,” said the Chinaman, whining his 
astonishment. “Miss Mary!” 

She writhed in the saddle. To be recognized in 
full daylight would have been bad enough; but to 
be recognized at the door of Carrol’s gaming house 
and saloon in the middle of night was infinitely 
worse. 

“Listen to me, Kong Li,” she said fiercely. “I 
have to see Dan Carrol. I want you to see that 
he’s brought out here, but I don’t want you to tell 
him my name before any other man. Understand?” 

“I savvy.” 

“And if you ever tell any one that I’ve been 
here—I—I’ll tie you by your queue to the limb of 
a tree till you starve to death, Kong Li. Under¬ 
stand ?” 

“I savvy,” said Kong, and he shuddered. It was 
not the first time in her life that Mary had threat- 


WHEN EVERYTHING WAS QUIET 133 

ened him, and he considered her quite capable of 
anything she named. 

“But/’ he murmured, “Dan Carrol very bad man. 
Miss Mary.” 

“Don’t I know that? I’ll take care of myself.- 
You hurry along.” 

He hesitated a moment longer, but dread of Miss 
Mary’s tongue at length made him whirl and shuffle 
away toward the gaming house. At the door he 
paused and looked back again, but he went on, the 
screen door banging loudly behind him. 

There followed a long pause. Her mind filled 
up the vacancy of Kong Li approaching the table 
of the gambler, touching his arm, and being cursed 
for a no-good chink. But eventually there was a 
sound of scuffling, the screen door burst violently 
open, and Kong Li leaped from the lighted interior 
into the darkness, sprawling, his arms and legs 
stretched out before him, and the pigtail whipped 
Straight out behind. 

Dan Carrol sprang into the doorway and poured 
a hurricane of abuse and profanity after his vic¬ 
tim while Kong Li darted by, crying to Mary as 
he passed: “Bad man! Very bad man, Miss 
Mary!” 

“Mr. Carrol!” called the girl, guarding her voice. 

Carrol fell silent; at the very sound of the voice 
he had touched the hat which was never off his 
head. Now he stepped cautiously outside. There 
were a hundred men who would have welcomed a 
chance to shoot Carrol securely, by night. 

“Who’s there?” 

She rode close to him. 


*34 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“I suppose you know me; but my name really 
doesn’t matter. I’ve come on important business, 
Mr. Carrol.” 

Slowly he took off his hat and spun it in his 
hands; she could feel his astonishment even though 
darkness quite covered his face. 

“You’re Mary Valentine!” 

“Hush! I’m Mary Valentine. I want you to 
tell me where to find Jess Dreer. Can you?” 

The gambler started, drew back, and then stepped 
close to the horse. 

“How should I know Jess Dreer?” he muttered 
very softly. “You mean the outlaw?” 

“He said you did.” 

Carrol drew in his breath with a hissing sound. 

“Dreer said that?” 

“He did.” 

“Well—he lied. That’s straight talk, and it’s 
true. What would I be doing with Dreer, eh?” 

“He’s a man whom I am proud to know,” said 
the girl. “Does that make it any easier for you 
to talk?” 

“Listen,” said Carrol. “The gent that knows 
where Jess Dreer is can take down several thou¬ 
sand for telling the sheriff. They’s a price on him 
that would stock a ranch.” 

“That,” said she, “is the reason why he can’t 
trust any except men who are above money, Mr. 
Carrol. Will you tell me where he is?” 

“Did he say I was above money?” asked the 
gambler curiously, after a pause. 

“He didn’t. But he said you could send me to 
him. 'And I infer the rest of it.” 


WHEN EVERYTHING WAS QUIET 135 


“You infer too much. I can’t do it” 

“I thought that perhaps you couldn’t. So Eve 
written out what I have to say to him. I have it 
here in this envelope. If I give it to you, do you 
think that you could get it to' Jess Dreer?” 

“I don’t know nothing about him.” 

“Of course you don’t.” She extended the letter. 
“But maybe you’d keep it for him on the chance 
that he might call in some day?” 

“I don’t know anything about him,” repeated the 
gambler, “but if you ask me to keep this for you 
—why, I’ll hang onto it.” 

“Thank you, and—good night. One thing, Mr. 
Carrol. I haven’t seen you to-night.” 

“Lady, the gent that was to say that you’d seen 
me to-night would have to chew up his talk and 
swaller it ag’in. Good night, and good luck!” 

And he remained standing with his hat in his 
hand until she was gone into the darkness with a 
quick patter of hoofs. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE APPEAL 

IN the days of his youth, some one in the midst 
* of a barroom brawl had stood on Dan Carrol’s 
nose, and the result was that the rest of his life it 
remained sadly crushed in the center. The nos¬ 
trils flared out disagreeably from the same cause, 
over a wide, thin-lipped, sinister mouth and just 
such a jaw as brings admiration to the bull terrier. 
For Dan Carrol was the fighting type. Not brawny. 
But his body made up for flesh by bones and sinews. 
When he turned his head the cords stood out on 
his neck. In spite of his little more than average 
weight, there were tales of Dan Carrol performing 
prodigious feats of strength. 

In fact, he rarely used a gun in the brawls that 
often developed in his barroom, but was far more 
apt to trust to his naked hands. And it was known 
that more than one obstreperous drunkard, no mat¬ 
ter what his size, had been lifted and swung crash¬ 
ing through the swinging doors of Dan’s domain. 

He was not a pretty man to look at. Aside from 
his ugly face, his shoulders sloped forward so as 
to give an unhealthy look to his chest, and he was 
remarkably bowlegged. 

“When most kids was flat on their backs suck¬ 
ing their thumbs,” Dan used to say, “I was on my 
feet trying to get places. That’s how it come I 
overstrained my legs.” 


THE APPEAL 


137 


Dan’s moral character was as deformed as his 
body. But it would require a book by itself to 
deal with his past; and as for the name of Dan 
Carrol in Salt Springs, it was an offense. How¬ 
ever, so long as no one aired his opinion in the 
hearing of Dan Carrol, he was indifferent to pri¬ 
vate judgments. He was known to run the squarest 
game in Salt Springs and to sell the cleanest liquor; 
and for that reason his prosperity waxed and his 
purse grew fat. 

As he passed through the rooms with the letter 
stuffed into his hip pocket, some one hailed him to 
rejoin the game which he had just left, but he con¬ 
signed them to another table and went on. To the 
second story of his rambling building he climbed 
and came to a room in the rear with this sign in 
great letters upon it: "Storeroom. Keep out!” 

Upon this he tapped—three short taps, a pause, 
and then three more. 

Whereupon, after a moment’s pause, but with no 
preliminary sound of the knob being turned, the 
door was opened swiftly. 

There was no sign of an occupant, at first, though 
the storeroom was fitted up as a bedroom, and the 
cigarette smoke was still curling slowly from an 
ash tray toward the shaded lamp. But as Dan 
Carrol stepped in, the inhabitant, who had been 
standing directly behind the door, now closed it 
and turned to his host. It was Jess Dreer. 

"Neat little trick, that,” said Dan Carrol. 

"Sit down,” Jess invited. 

"I ain’t got a minute. I been wondering if you 
was getting lonely up here?” 


138 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Me? Fm never lonely. Besides, I hear the boys 
soaking up the laughter and the booze downstairs, 
and I enjoy a jag at secondhand. It’s cheaper, and 
it don’t give you no morning after.” 

“That’s the first economical thing I ever heard 
you say. Well, Jess, it’s a shame you can’t pry 
your way downstairs and take in some of the loose 
coin. It’s floating in in oceans. I hate to take it 
away. They come up and pour it into my pockets.” 

“I don’t have to play with the crowd,” murmured 
Jess. “I got it down to a finer system. You take 
the stuff from the boys, and then I get it from you. 
Nothing easier or simpler, Dan.” 

The face of the gambler clouded, and he cast 
an expressive glance at the table as though it re¬ 
called gloomy scenes to him. 

“You got all the luck,” he declared, “that a man 
was ever born with.” 

“Nope,” said Jess. “I work on a system.” 

“What?” His eyes gleamed while he asked. 

“I wait for a hunch and then plunge to the 
limit.” 

The gambler leaned back with a growl of disgust. 

“Well, if you’re all right up here I’ll go back.” 

“Go ahead. But, first, ain’t you forgetting some¬ 
thing?” 

Dan Carrol squinted narrowly at his friend, for 
of all the men in the world he would, perhaps, have 
named Jess Dreer first in this capacity. 

“What d’you mean?” he asked sharply. 

“I mean, ain’t you forgot the thing that brought 
you up here? Talk short. What’s up?” 

“A girl come here and wanted to see you, Jess.” 


THE APPEAL 


139 

“She’s here?” cried the big man in an indescrib¬ 
able tone. 

“She was here.” 

“Carrol, you turned her away?” 

There was something so sinister in his manner, 
so quietly grim, that the gambler gave back a little. 

“Pardner, would you have wanted me to bring 
her in? Where a dozen men might have seen her? 
Where they’d been a hundred chances for folks to 
start talking about her? This ain’t no ladies’ semi¬ 
nary where they can come calling, is it?” 

At this, Jess Dreer wiped his forehead. 

“You’re right.” 

“She gimme this letter for you, Jess.” 

He extended the letter, and then—a rare act of 
delicacy—lest he should see an unwonted emotion 
in the face of the big man, Carrol bowed his head 
and left the room without another glance at his 
guest. 

But Jess Dreer, when the door closed, stood for 
a long moment with the letter unopened. At length, 
nervously, he ripped the envelope open and shook 
out the folded paper. He read: 

“Dear Jess Dreer: I thought at the time that 
it was not a farewell, but I never dreamed that I 
would have to remember your offer. And now I 
have to come to you for help. I have thought and 
thought, but there is really nobody else. Others 
might be willing to try, but you are the only one 
who could accomplish it. 

“It is an ugly thing out of my past. I hurt the 
feelings of young Joe Norman; and he said some¬ 
thing indiscreet about me, and my cousin, Charlie 


140 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

Valentine, shot him—only a slight wound. The 
Normans were furious. They had no one to put 
up against Charlie, so they hunted until they found 
a professional fighter—the low cowards!—and that 
man is the notorious Jud Boone. Charlie has to 
go to Salt Springs to-morrow for a saddle he won 
in the bucking contest, and the plan as we hear it 
is for Jud Boone to meet him and bring on a fight. 

“What can I do? You see that Charlie is really 
in grave danger for my sake, for it all began with 
me. If I were a man—but Fm not a man, and I 
have to turn to the bravest and strongest man I 
know, and appeal to Jess Dreer for help. 

“Can you stop Jud Boone before he murders 
Charlie? Mary Valentine.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE OFFER 

* | ’HE whole theory of Dreer’s strategy in remain- 
ing in Salt Springs was the theory of the rab¬ 
bit which cowers in a hole while the hunters sweep 
on along the probable trail. But if the rabbit raises 
its head before the hunt has driven by, its trick is 
worse than useless—it is suicidal. And if Jess 
Dreer, while half a dozen head-hunters were scour¬ 
ing distant mountains around Salt Springs in pur¬ 
suit of him, should appear in the center of danger 
he would be fully in the role of the silly rabbit. 

Yet he was called upon to act, and from the first 
moment of that call he had not the slightest hesi¬ 
tancy. The only question was: how he should strike 
at Jud Boone. 

One possibility presented itself at once. Aside 
from the people on the Valentine ranch, and they 
would not be apt to be in Salt Springs, there was 
only one man who was apt to recognize him, and 
that was the sheriff of the southland—Caswell. 
Suppose, therefore, that he boldly walked into the 
bar of Carrol’s saloon at the time when Charlie 
Valentine arrived for the saddle, and if matters 
reached a crisis, stepped between Charlie and dan¬ 
ger. The repute of Jud Boone had reached his 
ears even in the distant south, yet he was perfectly 
willing to take a chance against the bad man. The 
thing that troubled him was that if he entered into 


142 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


a shooting fracas with Boone he would certainly 
be detained for an inquiry after the affair was over. 
And in that case Caswell or some one else w^as cer¬ 
tain to recognize him. 

It was suicidal, therefore, to face Boone in the 
saloon. It remained to stop him even before he 
entered the saloon. And that was the plan of the 
outlaw. 

The first thing he had done when he took refuge 
with Carrol was to secure from the gambler a rudely 
sketched map of Salt Springs, the trails around it 
and the location, and the alleys branching from the 
main street, as well as the position of each house 
and the name of the owner—a task far from com¬ 
plicated. To this plan he now had reference, and 
having located his goal he left his room. 

It was not difficult to escape from Carrol’s gam¬ 
bling house without attracting attention. In the 
first place, the men within the building were occu¬ 
pied with interesting affairs of their own. In the 
second place, there was an easy “back door” for 
Jess Dreer. He had only to slip from his window 
out onto fhe broad, shelving roof; along this he 
worked to the lowest corner over the rear of the 
house, and having made sure that no one was in 
sight he dropped noiselessly to the ground and re¬ 
mained where he fell, bunched and moveless, while 
he examined again everything around him. 

No living thing moved within range of his eye. 
Behind him, the gaming house still bustled softly 
with humming voices and the occasional clink of 
glasses; but all the rest of Salt Springs was gath¬ 
ered in a black sleep. 


THE OFFER 


143 


So lie went boldly down the main street until, 
coming opposite the house he wanted, he walked 
to the front door of it and knocked. Luckily, there 
was some one still up even at this hour, for a light 
flickered yellow in an upper window. 

In answer to the knock, after a moment, a win¬ 
dow was flung up noisily. Jess Dreer stepped back 
from the flat face of the shack, for in spite of its 
two stories there was no sign of a veranda, and he 
could look straight up to the second level of the 
building. There he saw that the window had been 
opened in the lighted room but the occupant was 
not standing in view. He remained to one side, 
and his bulky shadow wavered across the curtain 
above him. 

“Who’s there?” he called in a rather guarded 
voice. 

“A friend with news.” 

“Who d’you want to see?” 

Dreer made swift calculations and then took his 
chance. 

“Why, I want to see you, Jud.” 

A silence. He could not tell how that announce¬ 
ment was taken, and yet by the change in the 
shadow he had no doubt that the other was striv¬ 
ing to reconnoiter the midnight visitor and at the 
same time remain himself in covert. Law-abiding 
citizens were not apt to show such remarkable dis¬ 
cretion, and Dreer’s belief that his guess was right 
was growing stronger when the voice went on: 
“Well, and who are youi that wants to see me?” 

“Look down,” said Jess, knowing perfectly that 


144 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


the other could not distinguish his face by the star¬ 
light. “Look down and you’ll recognize me, Jud.” 

“I ain’t a bat. How can I see in the dark? 
What’s your name?” 

“Don’t you even know my voice?” said Jess in 
aggrieved tones. “Then lemme come up and sur¬ 
prise you, Jud.” 

The other did not reply for a moment. Then 
he reached a decision. 

“Come to-morrow. Too late now. Come to¬ 
morrow.” 

“Whist!” Jess Dreer whispered. He stepped 
closer to the wall and cupped his hands about his 
whisper: “To-morrow’ll be too late, Jud!” 

At this, the shadow swerved on the curtain; then 
a whisper answered. 

“Come on up, pardner. The front door’s open. 
This end of the hall—door on the right!” 

So Jess Dreer entered the house and went up 
hurriedly over the uncarpeted stairs that creaked at 
every step, and down the hall until he tapped at 
the designated door. 

“Come in,” said the other. 

And Jess, entering, found on the other side of 
the room a blocky fellow, prematurely bald, perhaps 
thirty-five years old, with the small, chunky hands 
and the little feet which often denote a man of 
agility. He stood beyond a little deal table, with 
his hands resting lightly on his hips and an expres¬ 
sion of face and attitude which betokened the 
utmost readiness for action. 

All of these things Jess Dreer noted with a famil¬ 
iar eye, and while he closed the door without turn- 


THE OFFER 


145 


ing away from the stranger he allowed a broad 
grin to spread over his face. The hands of Jud 
Boone slipped a little farther down his thighs. 

“A fake, eh?” he said grimly. 

“It’s the first time, Jud, that I’ve ever been called 
a fake.” 

“And who the devil might you be?” 

“My name is something that I handle real tender. 
As a matter of fact, of late years every time I 
have to mention my name I most generally have 
got to mention my gun at the same time. You 
know how it is?” 

This amiability seemed by no means to the liking 
of Jud Boone. He studied his man from beneath 
a deepening frown, and by the twitching of his 
lips it was easy to tell that he was of two minds 
whether to pitch the stranger headlong through the 
door or let him continue to talk. Perhaps it was 
the width of the shoulders of Jess that discouraged 
the first notion. 

“I don’t know nothing,” averred Jud Boone. 
“But I’d like to know what you want out of me.” 

“Talk,” said Jess, helping himself to a chair by 
hooking a foot under it and swinging it dexterously 
behind him. “Talk is my prime reason for coming 
here, Jud.” 

“You know me, eh?” 

“I never seen you before,” said Jess, smiling 
again. 

The face of the other grew tense for an instant. 
He made half a step sidewise toward the window, 
and then seemed to realize that he could not look 


146 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

out of it without relinquishing his watch upon his 
visitor. 

“I ain’t got any friends with me,” said Jess. “If 
that’s what’s bothering you. I ain’t got the sheriff 
down below waiting for me to bring you out.” 

“And what’s any sheriff got to do with me, eh?” 

“I leave that to you,” said Jess, with a careless 
gesture. But the gesture was with his left hand; 
the right remained resting easily upon his thigh. 
All of which Jud Boone took into careful consid¬ 
eration. 

“Come short with me, stranger,” he said. “What 
you want? I’m a tolerable peevish man, and I need 
sleep just now.” 

“I’m agreeable. What I \vant is a promise.” 

Jud Boone gasped. 

“If I had my pick between a million and a nerve 
like yours,” he declared with wondering admiration, 
“I dunno which I’d take. You want a promise 
out of me?” 

“Gentleman’s agreement. I want you to keep 
your hands off Charlie Valentine when he comes in 
to-morrow.” 

“They’s been a lot of fool talk floating around 
this town,” declared the gunman, “about what I 
figure on with Charlie Valentine. I ain’t never 
seen him, and I don’t never want to. But first I 
want to know what is the point you knife in at?” 

“Jud, I’ll tell you. I’ll double the ante you got 
from the Normans. I’ll give you a thousand bucks 
in cold cash if you just fade out of Salt Springs 
and make no noise.” 


THE OFFER 


147 

In response, the latter merely stared with nar¬ 
rowed eyes. 

“I see,” nodded Jess. “You ain’t so cheap as I 
figured. What’s your price?” 

“I dunno what you mean,” declared Jud Boone, 
“but if I did know I reckon I’d have to bust you 
in two, pardner, and throw the loose ends out the 
window.” 

“If that’s the way of it,” and Jess smiled, “then 
maybe you know enough. Think again, Jud. 
What’s your price?” 

“I’ll tell you the price of a whole hide for you,” 
said the gun fighter, “and that’s to get up and back 
out of this joint mighty quick. I’m tired of your 
funny chatter, friend.” 

“My money don’t talk?” 

“It don’t.” 

“My, my. Now you’re getting real cross. But 
listen to reason. You get hired for one job—to 
bump off Valentine. But now it’s a different job. 
You got two men on your hands.” 

“Meaning you’re the other?” 

“Meaning just that.” 

“And d’you think that’d stop me, pardner?” 

“That’s what I think.” He lowered his voice to 
the volume of a whisper: “I’m Dreer, Jud.” 


CHAPTER XX 


TERMS 

|T caused an astonishing change in the face of the 
other. Dreer saw a desperate thought balanc¬ 
ing in the eyes of Boone, but then the glitter died 
away. 

It was a slow death, and for a time either fought 
the other with his eyes. Just as two men try grips 
until the hand of one weakens—crumbles. In such 
a manner the nerve of Jud Boone, keyed up to the 
point of fighting, broke and weakened. In the first 
moment, had Jess Dreer made the slightest motion 
toward a weapon, gun play would have resulted. 
And Dreer knew it perfectly well. His hands did 
not stir, but the faint sneer was stamped upon his 
face, and his eyes never wavered until the mouth 
of Jud Boone sagged open a little and his glance 
grew dull. 

“You’re Dreer?” he said huskily. 

“I’m Dreer.” 

Jud Boone raised an uncertain hand and wiped 
his dry lips. Then he shrugged his shoulders and 
managed to chuckle. 

“I might of known you,” he said with an attempt 
at cheeriness. “As a matter of fact, I’ve heard old 
Tom Le Sand talk a pile about you. Put her there!” 

He crossed the room with a swagger and extended 
a hand which Dreer instantly took. But on the 
part of Boone it was unconditional surrender; and 


TERMS 


149 


both men knew it. Just as some promising prize 
fighter, who would beat an ordinary man to a pulp, 
is suddenly frozen to helplessness when he is placed 
in the ring with a champion in his class, so Boone 
collapsed under the eye of his companion. And he 
hated Dreer for his superiority. 

“What I don't figure/' he said, “is why you 
didn't tell me your name the minute you come in?" 

“I knew I could trust you, Jud," the other lied 
smoothly, “but I've sort of formed a habit of keep¬ 
ing my name in the dark. Mostly, it don’t do no 
good but a lot of harm. You know how it is?" 

“Sure, sure. Have a drink?" 

“I'm keeping clear of the booze. Thanks." 

Jud Boone flushed and then sat down in turn. 
During the rest of the talk his eyes were mostly 
lowered, only flashing up for instants at the face 
of Dreer when the latter spoke. 

“Now we’ll talk turkey. Let’s go back to the 
matter of the coin, Jud. I know how it is. A gent 
will get in a hole so that he needs a bit of coin, 
and-" 

“Money ain’t got nothing to do with it," cried 
Jud Boone. He writhed in his chair. “I'll tell 
you the straight of it. I'm busting loose from the 
old game, Dreer. You know me. You know I 
ain’t been any little tin angel. But you don’t have 
anything on me—nothing cold. They ain't a man 
living that could put me behind the bars!" 

How many of the dead could have given that 
evidence, was the thought of Jess Dreer. 

“And now I've found some blood kin of mine. 
These Normans. They want me to settle down with 



150 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


’em. They need me. And if I’m to go straight 
I need them. It ain’t easy to go straight. A gent’s 
past is apt to come up and turn him wrong any 
time. Besides-” 

He choked. 

“They’s a girl, Jud?” suggested Jess Dreer with 
singular emotion. 

“Maybe,” admitted the other, flushing. “Here’s 
my point: This Charlie Valentine is a bad one. 
He’s got the makings of a gunman. He’d ought 
to be stopped before he gets going real good. You 
see?” 

He was arguing desperately; and Jess Dreer sat 
back with a vague pity beginning to work in his 
heart—pity and contempt. This hardened rascal to 
talk of stopping the career of a gun fighter! But 
he saw that there was a grain of sincerity buried 
in the talk of Jud Boone. The man meant it. He 
wanted to go straight, to break away from his past. 
The whole story came out as he talked. 

He had been passing through that section of the 
country. He had stopped in at the house of Joel 
Norman, a distant cousin. He had fallen desper¬ 
ately in love with Joel’s daughter, May. The girl 
had liked him, she had shown it, and he had tried 
to play the game straight by going to Joel and ask¬ 
ing his consent to the marriage. But Joel put him 
away with horror. 

And Jud Boone left the country with hatred for 
his whole clan in his heart. Then they sent after 
him, and Joel put up the proposition to him. He 
was to right the affair of Valentine and avenge the 
shooting of Joe Norman. That done, no cash would 



TERMS 


I5i 

change hands but Jud—if May was still willing— 
could marry her and settle down on a piece of land 
which Joel would stock for him. His past would 
be forgotten. The family power of the Normans 
would be used to the utmost to restore Jud’s stand¬ 
ing as a law-abiding citizen. 

Not that this tale flowed smoothly from the lips 
of Jud. It came brokenly. Illuminating phrases 
told whole episodes in a second. 

“That's how I’m fixed/’ lie concluded. “I don’t 
aim to kill Valentine, I just want to-” 

“Wait a minute,” said Jess Dreer. “If Charlie 
was a common cow hand you wouldn’t need to kill 
him. You could drill him through an arm, or a 
leg, and let him go. But he ain’t that kind. He’s 
a fast boy, Jud, and you know what that means 
just as well as I know it. If you meet him you’ll 
have to shoot to kill. So would I, if I met him. 
Just the same as we’d have to shoot to kill if 
we got tangled up with each other.” 

Once more Jud Boone met the eye of Dreer and 
quailed. 

“Put it short,” he said at length. “How far’ll 
you go for this Valentine?” 

“To the limit.” 

“They must of paid you high,” said Jud bitterly. 
“They’s no other way out?” 

“They ain’t a single way. We got to give way, 
one of us, Jud. And that one ain’t going to be 
me!” 

A gray color invaded the face of Jud Boone. 
He rose slowly from his chair with his arms hang¬ 
ing stiffly at his sides. 



152 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“Dreer, I can’t step out. I’ve give my word. I— 
I’d rather go to hell than to face 'her—after run¬ 
ning out on my promise.” 

He swayed himself a little back and forth and 
set his teeth. With every scruple of energy in his 
souil and body he was striving to call up the fighting 
passion; but the result was only a dull glare; and 
the mouth of the gun fighter was twitching loosely. 

“If you’re going to stop me, Dreer, you got to 
stop me now!” 

The sneer deepened on the thin lips of Dreer. 

“You poor fool,” he said contemptuously. “Look 
down at your hand! A Chinaman could beat you 
to your gun, Boone, and shoot you full of holes.” 

As one fascinated by a superior power, Boone 
looked down, saw the quaking fingers of his hands, 
and dropped back in his chair. His face was buried 
and he groaned. Jess Dreer walked to him and 
touched the trembling, massive shoulders. The gun 
fighter dared not look up. 

“Listen to me. Jud, I’m sorry for you. I ain’t 
your confessor; but I tell you I’ve heard some awful 
things about you. About what you done to your 
pardner that found that claim for you back of Angel- 
ville. About a pile of other things I’ve heard, too. 
But I’ll say now that I don’t believe them. 

“I’m going to do my part by you. How do 
I know that this Charlie Valentine is enough of a 
man to be worth all this trouble and pain saving? 
Maybe in a pinch he’d show yeller, I’ve seen it done. 
He’s done nothing but clean up on a bunch of kids. 
How’d he act facing a real fighting gent like you? 
That’s the question! Well, Jud, we’ll try him out. 


TERMS 


153 


“You go to that saloon to-morrow and you hang 
around until Charlie Valentine comes in. Then give 
him a try. Walk up to him and see if he’s got 
the nerve to meet you. Laugh at him, mock him, 
tell him what you’re going to do in the line of 
filling him full of lead, and when you’re done with 
that, just tell him to get out of the saloon; and then 
stand still and look him in the eye. 

“They ain’t one chance in ten that he’ll come 
through. Most likely he’ll try to grin and then 
back out. And if he does that you’re through. 
You’ve done your part better than the Normans 
could of asked, because you’ll have shamed the 
boy. 

“Ay, it would be worse than shooting him, in a 
way. But I’ll stand by and give you the chance. 
And I tell you straight it costs me more’n you 
guess to do it. But you go ahead. Try his nerve. 

“But if he don’t buckle and quit—if he don’t 
walk out of the saloon—if he stands ready for a 
fight—then, Jud, you won’t be fighting him. You’ll 
be fighting me. Because I’ll be standing by, and 
the minute the test comes I’m going to call your 
name out, and you and me’ll finish what you and 
him begun.” 

“Efyou mean it?” cried Jud Boone, leaping to 
his feet, exultant. 

“I mean it.” 

“But how can you stand around in Carrol’s place? 
What if you’re seen?” 

“I won’t be seen, but I’ll be seeing.” 

“Then, pardner, you’ll see this Charlie Valentine 


154 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


crumple up like wet paper when I get my eye 
on him. And—I know how to work it!” 

His face went savage. Indeed, he had had a 
practical demonstration that night of the power 
which one eye may exert upon another. 

“They’s one thing more,” said Jess Dreer slowly. 
“You know my name. You know I’m wanted. If 
you was to spread the news around that I was in 
town it might be kind of bad for me. I’ll leave it 
to your honor, Jud.” 

“Gimme your hand,” cried Jud. “You’ve met 
me halfway, and you can trust me to go square 
with you, pardner!” 

“S’long, then.” 

And the outlaw backed to the door, waved his 
hand, and was gone. 


CHAPTER XXI 


BETRAYED 

DUT the moment he was alone, shame threw Jud 
Boone into a perfect frenzy of rage and self- 
hatred. He ran to the door with the revolver naked 
in his hand, as if even now he would call back 
Dreer and face him. But he heard the door close 
downstairs and he hurried back to the window. 
Across the street below him the tall figure was 
passing, and he raised his weapon for a chance 
shot, balanced it a moment—and then dropped it 
into the holster with a groan. He sank into a 
chair, grinding his knuckles into his forehead; then 
leaped up as though under a spur and paced the 
room. But the thought of Jess Dreer followed him 
like a ghost, and like a ghost kept the calm eye 
upon him. 

At length he made up his mind. It was a shame¬ 
ful thing, perhaps, to betray the word which he 
had pledged to Jess Dreer, but to Jud Boone this 
was a matter of life and death; and where he was 
vitally concerned he had never been in the habit 
of consulting the requirements of honor. 

He went straight to the bedroom of his host, 
Sol Norman, and slipped in without knocking at 
the door. He found the lamp on the table by dint 
of fumbling and lighted it, looking up to find Sol 
Norman rising in bed on one elbow and blinking 
rapidly at the light. Sol Norman was prodigiously 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


156 

long of nose and chin and was considered the 
saddest-faced man on the ranges. His face was now 
even longer than usual while he gaped at the gun 
fighter. 

“The game’s off,” declared Jud, frowning at the 
other. 

“What game?” 

“Me and Charlie Valentine. I’m through.” 

At this, Sol Norman swung out of bed and 
plunged his bony legs into trousers. Sol was pre¬ 
eminently a man of action. Half a minute later he 
was strapping on a gun, and all these vital seconds 
he had not asked a single question. 

“Now,” he said, catching up his hat, “what’s 
wrong?” 

“I took on one man, not two,” declared the gun¬ 
man sullenly. “I took on Charlie Valentine for 
you folks. You all figured that Charlie was too fast 
with his gun for any of you to tackle, and I was 
willing to have a try at him. But the new man-” 

“What new man?” 

“Jess Dreer.” 

There was a foul oath from Sol Norman. 

“What’s he got to do with it?” 

“This: That if I jump Charlie, Dreer will jump 
me.” 

“Two to one, eh? Don’t worry, Jud. That’s 
just what we want. If we can get this down to 
mob action, everything is dead easy. We got the 
numbers.” 

Jud Boone flushed. 

“It ain’t the numbers, Sol. He ain’t going to 
work with Charlie. He’ll work by himself.” 



BETRAYED 


157 


4 ‘Then yotfll send him the same way you send 
Charlie Valentine, Jud, and you’ll collect the price 
for him. Not a bad day’s work, eh?” 

He made his voice hearty as he said this, but 
Jud failed to show enthusiasm. He flushed as he 
approached the shameful truth. 

“Sol, don’t you know nothing about Jess Dreer?” 

“Well?” 

“He’s the fastest man with a gun that ever 
sunk a spur into a hoss, Sol. Why, it was him 
that killed ‘Salty’ Moore—and—I’ve seen Salty 
work!” 

He had turned gray while he recalled Salty, and 
now Sol Norman nodded slowly; he understood. 

“But they’s one way around it. We’ll keep Dreer 
from coming anywheres near Carrol’s saloon. He’s 
an outlaw. Nobody don’t need to wait for an in¬ 
vitation before they plug Dreer. We’ll pass the 
word around. We’ll get all our boys out with some¬ 
thing on the hip.” 

Jud Boone mopped his forehead. 

“It’s a rotten job,” he muttered. “I don’t feel no 
ways right about it. Keep him away if you can. 
But—somehow I figure he’ll get through. He’ll 
be somewheres near watching when I face Charlie 
Valentine. But—*—” 

“Have a drink,” urged Sol, studying the face 
of the fighter with his little, shrewd eyes. “Have 
a drink. Then you tumble into bed and have a 
snooze. I’m going to make the rounds and get 
the boys together. They’d be on hand, anyway; 
I’m going to make sure of having them here early. 



THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


158 

But what does this Dreer look like? Fve never 
seen him; none of the rest of the boys have/’ 

“He’s tall—big shoulders, narrow waist, long 
arms—like a gorilla. He ain’t very good to look 
at. Kind of lean in the face. Got a straight-look¬ 
ing eye.” He shuddered slightly as he remembered 
that eye. He concluded. “You just tell the boys 
what I’ve told you. And when they see Jess Dreer 
—they’ll know him well enough.” 

He stepped closer and clutched the arms of Sol 
with his pudgy hands. 

“Sol, you got to keep him away!” 

And he turned to the whisky bottle. 

Sol Norman left the room with three huge strides, 
went down the stairs with as many leaps, and 
burst into the night on his errand; and Jud Boone, 
turning the whisky glass nervously, was comforted 
by the beat of hoofs that swept down the street. 

There was no sleep for Jud that night. Most 
of the time he spent in recalling the most minute 
details of his interview with Dreer. And then he 
focused the eye of the memory on the personal 
appearance of the outlaw—and most of all he dwelt 
upon the long, capable, deft fingers of the man. 
In those fingers a revolver would become a living 
thing, he felt. 

In the meantime, before dawn was well up in the 
sky the first arrivals appeared at the house of Sol 
Norman, for this was the rallying place for the 
clan. And their coming, also, cheered Jud Boone. 
He could hear the front door slamming more and 
more frequently and their noisy stamping through 
the lower kail to the kitchen. 


BETRAYED 


159 


When he went down, they gave him a noisy re¬ 
ception. He was their champion, and they treated 
him like a king. Eagerly, to the circle of attentive 
faces, Jud described the outlaw, and the necessity 
of keeping him away from the saloon. They were 
to shoot at sight, ask their questions later, for if 
Dreer ever got the drop on them or even a fair 
warning of his danger, Re would probably escape 
through a thousand of them. Jud was willing 
to exaggerate the prowess of Dreer. It made 
his fear of the outlaw less cowardly, and more 
like a man’s dread of any power in nature. Jess 
Dreer became, under his painting, a cyclone against 
which one man or even two would be foolish to 
stand. And the result of the speech was that every 
man of the Norman clan looked to his weapons 
and then went out prepared for desperate battle. 

By the time it was full day they had already 
laid their preparations and their plans of battle. 
And by the time it was full day Dan Carrol went 
up to the room of Dreer. 

The big man, like Jud Boone, had not slept dur¬ 
ing the small remainder of the night, and at a signal 
from the gambler he went to the window. 

“Look yonder.” 

“Well?” asked Jess Dreer. 

“What d’you see?” 

“A bald old boy scratching his head.” 

“That bald old boy is Tom Norman—the old man 
himself.” 

He led the way to another window. 

“What d’you see?“ 


160 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Why, the same thing you do. Three gents 
sitting on a log playing dice/’ 

“Them three are Walter Norman and his two 
cousins, Garry and Wally. Now, Jess, d’you begin 
to do a little thinking?” 

“I began to think that they’s a considerable heap 
of Normans in this town. Anything else I’d ought 
to think?” 

“Why d’you think they’re there?” 

“Why, they’re going to hang around and wait 
for the fight to come off. They’re waiting to see 
Jud Boone kill Charlie Valentine. Wouldn’t take 
much brains to figure that out.” 

“Don’t it strike you that they’re a wee mite 
early?” 

“They don’t want to get caught in the rush. 
Go on, Danny, and tell me what it all means—if 
it does mean anything queer.” 

“Kind of queer, pardner. Them gents ain’t the 
only ones. They’s others all around the saloon. 
They’re sitting on front porches. They’re loafing 
around in the alleys. They’s a couple of ’em down 
in the barroom now. Not talking much. Just 
standing and sipping their drink like they didn’t 
like it, and looking, looking, looking. Jess, they’re 
out there to keep you from getting to the saloon!” 

It made the outlaw whirl on him. 

“What the devil do they mean by that?” 

“They’s a whisper going the rounds that you 
intend to show up when it comes to the pinch 
between Jud and Charlie Valentine, you’re going 
to step in and take a crack at Jud. They ain’t 
anything in it, Jess, is there?” 


BETRAYED 161 

The tall man was stunned, but he gradually re¬ 
covered. 

“It’s Boone/’ he said huskily. “The skunk has 
started talking. He gave me his word. Danny, I 
could of killed the hounddog and got away clean 
without nobody knowing I was ever near him. And 
now he’s double crossed me!” 

“He told what?” gasped Carrol. “D’you mean to 
say that you were going to step in between Boone 
and young Valentine?” 

“I was—and I am.” 

“Jess, you’re hanging yourself!” 

“I’d only be hurrying up something that’s sure 
to happen sooner or later. But—I still got one 
chance.” 

“What’s that?” 

“If I can get back to my room after the 
fracas-” 

“No good, Jess. They’ll search every inch of 
the house.” 

“That’s right.” He fell silent. “They’s only one 
chance, then. If I have to make a play agin’ Jud 
Boone with all this gang around, I’m done. But 
if Jud bluffs down Charlie—why, then my neck’s 
saved.” 

“But what’ll I do? Where can I help, Jess?” 

“Nothing you can do. These here things, Danny, 
just up and happens.” 



CHAPTER XXII 


THE SHOW-DOWN 

DUBLIC opinion in Salt Springs was strictly 
* neutral. On the one hand it was felt that Charlie 
Valentine had overstepped the bounds within which 
a peaceful man should walk by his various shooting 
scrapes. On the other hand there were not many 
who entirely approved of the Normans. They were 
a clannish tribe. They carried into the mountain 
desert the spirit with which they had lived in the 
Kentucky back hills. And the spirit of the clan 
is not wanted west of the Rockies in the large 
spaces where a man's malice should dissolve before 
he had spread it like a poison into the blood of his 
relations. Therefore, when Salt Springs found out 
that if the toes of one Norman were stepped upon, 
the fists of fifty Normans avenged the hurt, the 
townsmen put their heads together, marveled at 
this new spirit, and then began to frown. The 
Westerner does not make up his mind suddenly. 
He really is more conservative than the most hide¬ 
bound New Englander. He is taught from his 
childhood to look on the better side of a man, 
and if the man has not a better side, then to avoid 
him altogether. The reason is simple. It is danger¬ 
ous to disapprove of a man who wears a gun; it 
is far better to keep away from him, and above 
all, it is best to say nothing about him lest tidings 
of what you have said be brought to his ear. 


THE SHOW-DOWN 163 

Accordingly, Salt Springs saw the Normans, dis¬ 
approved of them, and then waited in silence for 
something to happen. But on this day, when the 
Normans gathered in the streets of the town, every 
man armed, every man silently ugly, it was felt that 
they had overstepped the bounds of decorum. Salt 
Springs, in a word, disapproved, and hitched at 
its gun belt. And if the opposite party had not 
been a young mischief-maker himself, there was 
every probability that the neutrals would have risen 
en masse and run the Normans out of the town. 

But as it was, it was felt that this private war 
had best run its own course, though many public- 
spirited men shook their heads with the knowledge 
that, if Charlie Valentine fell, it would be merely 
the beginning of constant warfare—for Morgan 
Valentine himself would then take up arms, and 
when Morgan Valentine stirred, society was shaken 
to the roots. As for the other rumor—that Jess 
Dreer was mixed up in this matter and was on 
the side of the Valentines, most people were in¬ 
clined to disbelieve it. Besides, Dreer was to most 
of them a semimythical spirit. He came from the 
southland. His crimes were not of their region. 
And the man himself was discounted. Compared 
with Jud Boone, a known force, he was nothing. 

But there was something so set and staged about 
this affair that Salt Springs began to grow excited 
before the morning was old. It drifted more and 
more thickly toward Danny Carrol’s saloon where 
the meeting was to take place. And all eyes, turn¬ 
ing upon Jud Boone who sat at a table in the 
corner, would then flick over to the prize saddle, 


164 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

which now lay at the other end of the bar waiting 
for Charlie Valentine. 

Obviously, no one could look at the saddle and 
then at Jud Boone without picturing the gun fight 
which was coming. 

But where was Jess Dreer? He had not been 
seen. The loose-flung circle of the Normans had 
espied no one even distantly resembling the descrip¬ 
tions of the outlaw. Of course, no one dreamed 
of looking into the saloon. And in the saloon, 
least of all, would they have looked into the old 
closet at one end of the room. But here stood 
Jess Dreer, with the door ajar a fraction of an 
inch. From this he could not see the barroom, 
but he could look down the long mirror behind the 
bar, and in this mirror he saw perfectly at second¬ 
hand all that happened. He saw the crowd filter 
through the door, a silent crowd, lining up before 
the bar, and then breaking swiftly into groups that 
gathered along the wall—always hurrying across 
the line between the chair of Jud Boone and the 
door, as if at any moment Charlie Valentine might 
appear in this doorway and the guns be drawn. 

Jud Boone drank with a deep relish of the ex¬ 
citement which his presence roused. The number of 
the mustered Normans soothed his nerves. And if 
Jess Dreer were kept away from the saloon this 
day his triumph would never ‘be threatened. 

There was a sudden flurry around the door of the 
saloon. Every one stood up—except Jud Boone. 

Then the whisper passed down the room, rose 
to a murmur, to a deep voice: “Charlie Valentine 
is riding down the street—and he's coming alone!” 


THE SHOW-DOWN 165 

Alone, and into the very teeth of all this savage 
clan of Normans! 

All at once the men of Salt Springs began to 
remember that Charlie Valentine was young, hand¬ 
some, of good family. That in his quarrels he 
had never taken an unfair advantage; that he had 
never actually killed. And then they looked from 
the open doorway to the face of Jud Boone, killer. 
The contrast was perfect. 

Not even Valentine’s brother—not even his father 
had come with the boy. It was as though the 
whole family trusted everything to the sense of 
fair play in Salt Springs. And that was the reason 
for the deep, stern hum that went about the 
saloon. Sheriff Claney, of course, was not there. 
His habit was to attend such affairs after and not 
before. 

But Steve Harrison made himself spokesman 
when he went up to Gus Norman. 

“Look here, Gus,” he said, “they ain’t any mys¬ 
tery about why you got all your men out here 
to-day. But you take my advice. Stay clear of 
trouble. Don’t start no mob action. It ain’t popular 
around these parts. And write this down in red— 
Charlie Valentine is going to get a square deal!” 

And as he stepped back once more the murmur 
passed up and down the barroom approving. 

It was possible for Jess Dreer, in the closet, to 
watch the approach of Charlie Valentine down the 
street. Distant voices were calling from the out¬ 
doors, small at first and then growing in volume. 
Were they murmurs of admiration? Of sympathy? 

Jud Boone, at his table, finished his drink, and 


i66 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


then leaned back in his chair. It was a careless 
attitude, but the hand which hung by the gunman’s 
side was clenched until the skin whitened across 
the knuckles. Jess Dreer saw all this in the 
mirror. 

Then he heard, at the very door of the saloon, 
a woman’s voice pitched high and shrill. It was 
calling: “Oh, Charlie Valentine, don’t go inside. 
They’re going to murder you, Charlie!” 

Every man in the saloon stopped in the midst of 
gesture or spoken word. What a thrill in that 
girl’s voice! Perhaps she was some old friend. 
She had danced with Charlie Valentine. She had 
known him when he was a child. She had even 
loved him, perhaps, and now she cried this warning. 

The affair had been grim before. It now 
suddenly became filled with horror. 

Then followed a heart-breaking pause, a dead 
silence outside the saloon. No voice within. What 
was happening? Had Charlie Valentine paused? 
Had the cry of this girl broken his nerve? Was 
he taking her advice and turning away? Was 
it this that accounted for the silence? 

Jess Dreer, believing this, sighed with relief—and 
then Charlie Valentine stepped into the doorway. 

It was the thing for which every one in the saloon 
had been waiting and priming himself during the 
past hour or more. 

And here stood Charlie Valentine, dark against 
the white sunlight beyond. Being the center of at¬ 
tention, he seemed hardly more than a child. De¬ 
fiantly he had put on a shirt of blue silk, and he had 
a scarlet handkerchief around his neck. Poor fel- 


THE SHOW-DOWN' 


167 


low! His very gaudiness accentuated his deadly 
pallor. Purple circles surrounded his eyes. His 
mouth was set until the red of the lips disappeared. 
One could understand at a glance that this youngster 
had not slept in expectation of the fight. 

Now he looked over the barroom, with its crowd 
of faces, and smiled. There was no mistaking it. 
Every ounce of power in his soul and body was 
given to make that smile. His lips parted; he tried 
to speak. 

He had to moisten his lips and try again before 
the sound would come. 

Very faintly: “Hello, boys! I—I've come for that 
saddle, Danny." 

Dan Carroi from behind the bar looked somberly 
at him. As much as to say: “Poor devil, you've 
come to be killed!" 

Aloud he said: “It's yours, Charlie. And a beauty, 
too. Bring in the buckboard for it?" 

“Yep." 

And Charlie Valentine walked to the saddle and 
put his hand on the horn of it. 

[With one accord, every eye in the room turned 
upon Jud Boone. Yes, he was slowly rising; he 
had pulled down his hat a little; he was sauntering 
forward carelessly with his hands dropped lightly 
upon his hips. 

Jess Dreer heard, near his door, a whisper which 
said: “It's plain murder. That kid agin' Boone! It 
ought to be stopped!" 

But who would stop it? Jud Boone was a known 
man. 


i68 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“Kind of a fine-looking saddle, Valentine, ain't 
it?” Jud remarked. 

At the voice, a shock went through Charlie 
Valentine; a shudder as though a powerful current 
of electricity had been flung through him. Then, 
slowly, fighting himself to make his movements 
calm, he turned his head. His face was like death, 
yet he forced a wan smile. A little whisper of 
admiration went up and down the saloon. The 
combatants were at length face to face. And what 
a contrast! As well send a stripling two-year-old 
to try his horns against the scarred front of some 
bull who has long lorded it over his range. 

The sneering smile of Jud Boone was a silent 
token of his knowledge of superior strength. And 
the head of Valentine, held desperately high, was 
an equally eloquent token that he knew he was ap¬ 
proaching his death. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CATASTROPHE 

y\ FINE saddle, kid, eh?” repeated Jud Boone, 
** who after pausing a few paces, now went a 
stride nearer. 

The eyes of Valentine widened a little, fascinated, 
and then, by degrees, he was able to look away 
from his enemy to the prize. He touched it with a 
shaking hand. 

“Pretty nice,” he admitted. 

“Yep, and they've wasted a pile of silver in fixing 
it up, I'd say.” 

It was an obvious opening for an insult, if Charlie 
Valentine chose to follow it up. But it was in¬ 
stantly clear that he would avoid the issue if that 
were possible. 

“I guess I’ll have time to keep the silver shined 
up, Jud.” 

It seemed somehow that a subtle appeal were con¬ 
veyed by this use of the man-killer’s first name. 
Something of appeal, too, in the faint smile which 
the boy now turned on his antagonist. 

As though he was mutely saying: “For Heaven's 
sake, Jud Boone, be merciful. Don't push me to 
the limit; give me a chance!” 

Salt Springs noted all this, and the face of 
Salt Springs took on a sick look of pain and horror. 

Then the same girl’s voice, shriller than before, 
and closer to the door of the saloon: 


170 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“I will get in there, I tell you. I will get in! 
They’re getting ready to fight now. I can tell it 
by the silence!” 

A muttering of men’s voices followed. Those 
were the Normans, no doubt, who were keeping 
the poor creature away. 

And then her voice, pitched higher still: “Oh, 
if any of you are half men, go in and stop them! 
Save Charlie Valentine! He’s only a boy!” 

Somehow that girl’s voice was the crowning 
horror. 

Charlie Valentine, shaking like a hysterical woman, 
turned his head with jerks and stared at the silent 
crowd along the wall. 

“Won’t some of you—go out—and stop that 
noise?” he murmured gaspingly. 

But the brutal Boone had seen another opening 
and instantly took advantage of it. 

“What’s the matter, Charlie ? Does the lady 
think you’re sick? Or about to get sick? That’s 
Nan Tucker, ain’t it?” 

But he had whipped down the pride of the boy 
too much. Now a touch of color came in young 
Valentine’s face. 

“My dad taught me one little thing,” he said, 
“and that was never to name ladies when I was 
having a drink. Around these parts, Boone, we 
most generally keep our womenfolk outside of 
saloons.” 

“But,” said Boone, furious at the murmur of ap¬ 
probation along the wall, “I ain’t seen any drinking 
going on.” 


CATASTROPHE 


171 

“We’ll start in now then.” He turned to the 
others. “Step up, boys, and have one on me.” 

Not a man stirred from the wall. The pale, 
interested faces stared as if these two had been on 
a stage, and the others were sitting behind foot¬ 
lights watching the drama of unreal lives. Charlie 
Valentine swung back again with an attempted 
smile, which only served to show his set teeth, 
flashing. “Nobody ain’t particular dry, I guess,” 
remarked Jud Boone. 

“I guess not,” whispered Charlie. 

“Speaking of saddles, son, I hear that you ain’t 
really got any right to that one.” 

“I got no right to it? Well, what d’you mean 
by that?” 

Obviously the crisis was coming. There would 
be no escaping from the quarrel which Jud Boone 
was urging on. 

“I’ll tell you what I mean—it’s what I hear pretty 
general around Salt Springs. They say that young 
Tolliver really ought to be taking off this saddle 
to-day.” 

“And how comes that?” queried Charlie Valen¬ 
tine in the same ghastly, faint voice. 

“It comes this way. Bud Tolliver rides straight 
up and won’t pull the leather, and he sticks on every 
horse but the last one. And then you come out 
and stick through all the horses. But when you 
come to the one that thro wed young Tolliver, you 
sneak a grip that the judges don’t see and pull 
the leather, and that’s how you happen to be here 
to-day taking off the prize saddle.” 


172 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

Once more Charlie Valentine moistened his color¬ 
less lips. 

“Somebody has been joking with you, Jud. I 
didn’t pull no leather that day.” 

Jud Boone raised his head and laughed derisively. 
And the fire was in his eyes. Plainly he was drink¬ 
ing deep of pleasure in this torture scene. 

“Ask the boys, Jud,” gasped Charlie Valentine. 
“They’ll tell you I didn’t pull leather.” 

Jud Boone rolled his keen glance up and down 
the line—and not a man stepped forward—not a 
voice was raised. 

Once more the gun fighter laughed. His confi¬ 
dence was mounting to great heights by this time. 
No attempt had been made so far by Jess Dreer to 
break through the cordon of the Normans around 
the saloon; and apparently the game was in his 
hand. And even if Charlie Valentine mustered 
courage enough to draw his gun, he would be worse 
than helpless with such, shaking hands. Yet Jud 
was determined to avoid a shooting affair if pos¬ 
sible. He was set on breaking the nerve of this 
boy and making him “take water.” Because there 
was one chance in ten, that even though Jess Dreer 
were not here to-day, he might make it a point to 
look up the slayer later on. And Jud was distinctly 
desirous of avoiding that future meeting. 

“You see,” he said, “they ain’t any volunteers 
for information. Kind of looks as though they were 
agin’ you, Charlie. Look ’em over yourself.” 

Obediently Charlie cast a wild glance down that 
line. Not a man would stir or speak. He looked 
back to Jud 1 . 


CATASTROPHE 


173 


“I dunno how it is,” he said. 

Suddenly Jud shouted: “Well, how do you think 
it is?” 

Charlie Valentine trembled. Perspiration poured 
out on his forehead. 

“Maybe,” he whispered very faintly, “I’m wrong. 
Maybe—Pve forgotten—just what I did—that day!” 

Gratification flooded the face of Jud Boone. 
Plainly the nerve of the boy was breaking; he was 
about to take water. And in the closet at the rear 
of the room Jess Dreer, though he was quivering 
with horror, muttered to himself: “Thank Heaven. 
They ain’t going to come to a show-down. I won’t 
have to step in!” But a great desire to spring at 
Boone and break him in his hands was sweeping 
over the outlaw. 

“Yep,” sneered Jud Boone, “I figure that you 
got a pretty handy memory. But I’ll tell you what 
you do, son, to put yourself in right ag’in. You 
just leave this saddle here for young Tolliver, and 
I’ll see that he gets it.” 

The head of Charlie Valentine dropped; his hand 
which had been twisted around the horn of the 
saddle loosened and fell nervelessly away. He 
seemed about to turn back toward the door, and a 
breath of relief came from the onlookers. 

It may have been that breath that changed the 
mind of Charlie Valentine; it may have been that 
little whispering sound which made him recall the 
stem words of his father when he set out that 
morning. 

He whipped himself together with an effort and 
looked Jud Boone in the eye. 


174 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“Jud Boone,” he said, “the saddle’s mine!” 

The other was shaken by the sudden change. On 
his brow gathered his most ferocious frown. 

“Son,” he said ominously, “watch what you’re 
saying. I’m a tolerable peaceful man—till I get 
riled up. And you’re riling me a whole pile. If 
you take this saddle it’s just the same as calling 
me a liar!” 

“Then—Heaven help me—that’s what I call you, 
Boone!” 

It was done. Even Boone could hardly believe 
that he had heard it. 

“Think twice, Valentine. I ain’t a man to stand 
such talk!” 

“I—I’ve done my thinking,” cried the young fel¬ 
low, trembling like a girl. “And now—have it over 
with!” 

He stood perfectly straight, his chin upj and it 
was patent that he could never get his gun out of 
the holster in time to meet the lightning draw 
of the other. And Jud Boone had forgotten all 
scruples, forgotten even Jess Dreer. The fighting 
lust was on him, and his upper lip was drawing back 
over his teeth in that bestial manner which needs 
to be seen only once to be remembered forever. 

Then a voice cried from the other end of the 
room—a deep, mellow voice: “Boone! Jud Boone! 
You’re facing the wrong way!” 

Those who saw the change that came in the face 
of Boone were haunted by it. They looked down 
the saloon, and there stood a big man, broad-shoul¬ 
dered, long-armed, with his gun hanging far down 


CATASTROPHE 


175 

on his thigh. There was something negligent in his 
attitude, and negligently alert. 

Yet for a long instant Jud Boone did not turn. 
When he whirled it was with a shrill, animal cry, 
the gun coming into his hand as he veered. 

Two reports. Two drifts of thin smoke, like two 
small puffs from a cigarette which is being deeply 
inhaled. The smoke went upward slowly. Jess 
Dreer had dropped his gun to his side again. But 
Jud Boone stood with a dazed expression, his re¬ 
volver still extended. First the weapon crashed on 
the floor. Then he reached his left hand along 
the rail of the bar. His head dropped over, and 
he lowered himself slowly to the floor. 

When they reached him he was dead. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


PUNISHED 

nPHE group on the veranda of the Valentine house 
had remained there for close to two hours. 
Mary sat halfway down the steps with her hands 
clasped about her knees. Elizabeth was above her, 
leaning against the railing. Morgan Valentine and 
his wife were in chairs on the veranda itself. 

He was smoking his short-stemmed pipe steadily. 
Mrs. Valentine had abandoned her knitting some 
half an hour before, and now sat stiffly erect, with 
her chin drawn in, her mouth tight, her color, ashes. 

And every eye of the four was bent fixedly upon 
that point where the road swerved around the shoul¬ 
der of the western hill and dipped toward the house 
in a long, swift curve. No one had spoken—hours, 
ages of silence, it seemed. But now and then the 
glance of Mrs. Valentine lowered upon Mary, and 
her lips stirred with bitter, soundless words. And 
once when Mary turned and looked up, she met the 
glance of Elizabeth fixed on her as though she were 
a snake. 

All this trouble rested on the head of the girl, 
and only the eye of Morgan Valentine was kind and 
clear. But even he, toward the end, was abstracted. 

Now, over the hill, a horseman darted. And the 
four rose to their feet at the signal. It was Louis 
Valentine. He was spurring his horse to a mad 


punished 


177 


gallop down the slope. His hat off; he was waving 
it frantically. Every inch of his body spoke joy. 

And a cry came from the watchers. 

“Thank God, thank God!” whispered Mrs. Valen¬ 
tine, and fumbling blindly, she found the hand of 
her husband and clung to it. 

Elizabeth was weeping soundlessly. 

Now the courier plunged up to the house and 
flung himself out of the saddle. 

“I seen him!” he cried. “I seen Charlie coming 
over the next rise! I seen him! He’s all right! 
He’s coming alone!” 

“But you don’t know,” said Mrs. Valentine. “He 
may be-” 

“Not a scratch on him. I can tell by the way 
he’s riding. Coming like sixty. Spurring every 
jump. He’s got Baldy stretched out straighter’n a 
string. No wounded man could ride like that.” 

Then Morgan Valentine spoke: “Did you see the 
saddle? How’s it come that he drives in in the 
buckboard and comes riding a hossback ? He 
drives Baldy in and rides him back? Where’s the 
saddle?” 

A gasp from Louis; half of his joy disappeared. 

“You mean—you think Charlie took water— 


“I don’t care what he did!” cried the boy’s 
mother. “He’s alive—he’s safe—in spite of you, 
Morgan!” 

“But his honor,” said the indomitable rancher. 
“How about that?” 

There was no opportunity for further surmise. 
Over the hill came a second rider, and this time it 




178 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


was Charlie who appeared, spurring hard, as Louis 
had said. He did not wave his hat as he saw 
the waiting family. At their joyous shout that 
went tingling to him, he returned no answer. 

“Rides like they was some one behind him,” 
muttered the ominous voice of Morgan Valentine, 
and for the first time he removed the pipe from 
between his teeth, and shaking himself clear from 
the hands of his wife, he stepped to the head of 
the stairs and waited. 

Charlie Valentine dismounted less hastily than his 
brother had done and was caught in four pairs of 
arms; showered with exclamations from four pairs 
of lips. Only his father remained aloof. 

“The saddle, Charlie!” he cried at length, even 
his iron nerve breaking under the strain. “Did 
you bring it out?” 

At this the women and Louis released the boy 
and turned; his face could be seen clearly for the 
first time, and it was notable that there was not 
the slightest sign of exultation. He seemed to 
have aged many years; he had gone in hardly more 
than a child; he came out to the ranch from Salt 
Springs carrying his manhood stamped upon his 
face. 

“There’s the prize saddle on the hoss,” he said 
tersely. 

“And Jud Boone?” breathed his brother, Louis, 
half abashed before this new Charlie Valentine 

“Jud Boone is dead.” 

Dead silence. Had their own Charlie killed the 
man? Did that explain the gravity, the joyless¬ 
ness of his manner. 


PUNISHED 


179 


But Morgan Valentine came down the steps with 
gleaming eyes. He stretched out his hand. 

“Son,” he said, “you live up to the blood that 
runs in you. I’ll tell you now that when you left 
the house this morning I thought you were riding 
to your death. I’ve had you dead in my thoughts, 
Charlie!” 

“I can’t shake your hand,” replied the son. “It 
wasn’t me that killed Jud Boone.” 

Another caught breath from the crowd. The arm 
of Morgan Valentine fell slowly to his side. 

“I’ll telV you how it was,” said Charlie slowly. 
He frowned and recalled the bitter picture in detail. 

“When I faced Jud Boone my nerve left me. 
I was like—like I was standing in a cold wind. 
That’s the way his eye got on my nerves. I kept 
thinking—about death—and being young. And—I 
near crumpled up. I—I near took water. Along 
comes the last minute. I was just swaying between 
being a coward—and then something snapped in 
me. I called Jud Boone a liar, and then waited 
for the draw. But I knew I was simply waiting 
to be killed. My hand was shaking so I couldn’t 
of hit the other side of the room. And Jud Boone 
was as cool as if he was getting ready to shoot 
at a target. 

“And then—I heard a big voice call: 7 UC ^- J u d 
Boone! You’re facing the wrong way!’” 

He imitated that deep tone, that full voice, and 
a quiver ran through the listeners. 

“Jud turned with a yell, with his gun out before 
he was clear around. Wasn’t till he was clear 
around that the stranger made a move. Then it 


i8o 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


was just a jerk of his hand; a flash of light as the 
gun jumped into it—and he shot Jud Boone dead! 
And that’s why I’m here—alive.” 

“God bless him! Who did it, Charlie?” 

But still Charlie showed no joy. He lifted his 
arm and pointed sternly at Mary Valentine. The 
others followed that pointing hand and saw her 
standing with a white face and great, staring eyes. 

“I reckon you know, Mary. When it was over, 
he says to me: ‘Tell her that she don’t owe me noth¬ 
ing. That the account is just squared up, that’s all.’ 
I reckon you know who he was speaking about, 
Mary!” 

“It was Jess Dreer,” said the girl faintly. “And 
—he got away, Charlie?” 

“You must of known when you asked him to 
help me that there wasn’t any way for him to 
get loose. Not with a whole line of men stretched 
around the saloon waiting for him—and Normans*, 
all of them! You must of knowed you was asking 
him to step in and die! And him being that kind 
of a gent”—the voice of Charlie trembled—“he 
wouldn’t say no to a woman.” 

“Charlie, you aren’t speaking true? He isn’t 
caught ?” 

She had broken through the circle now and was 
clinging to him, pleading with him. 

“Don’t hold onto me, Mary,” said the boy coldly. 
“I swear that I’d rather be back there lying dead 
on the floor of Dan Carrol’s place than to have 
Dreer die for me.” 

“Hush,” broke in Morgan Valentine. 


PUNISHED 181 

He was looking at Mary, not at his rescued son. 

“Mother, take Mary inside.” 

“Oh, Mary! That was what you done for us? 
Oh, Mary, and all the bitter things I been thinking 
of you!” 

“I won’t go, Aunt Maude,” said the girl steadily. 
“I want to know just what happened. After Boone 
dropped, what did Jess Dreer do?” 

“He turned his gun in his hand and caught it 
by the barrel. 

“ ‘Boys,’ he says, just as quiet as I’m talking 
now. ‘Boys, I guess you know who I am. I’m 
Jess Dreer. They’s about one chance in three that 
I could rush the lines outside and get clear. But 
I’m sort of tired. So I give myself up. Who’ll 
take my gun?’ 

“Nobody moved. I called out: ‘Jess, I’m with 
you. I’m at your back. We’ll try it together.’ I 
meant it. I’d of died for him. I still would! 
But he says: ‘Go easy. boy. I know you’re white, 
but don’t you go making a mess of things for 
yourself/ ” 

“Charlie,” said Mary Valentine in the same calm 
voice in which she had spoken before, “I’ll never 
forget what you said to Jess Dreer and the offer 
that you made.” 

He went on, unheeding: “Then he goes up to 
Harrison and puts out his gun: ‘Pardner,’ he says, 
‘I figure you for a man-sized man. Take my gun 
and lead me to the lockup. They’s a pretty fat 
little price on my head. It’s all yours—and you 
can give it to charity.’ 

“But Harrison took Dreer’s hand, not his gun: 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


182 

‘You’ve done a mighty fine thing/ he said. ‘I dunno 
what your record is, Dreer, but here’s one that 
would back you. And we’ll see that you get a clean 
deal in Salt Springs.’ 

“But just then Sheriff Claney comes through the 
door. 

“ ‘Will you make the same offer to me, Dreer ?’ 
he says, with his hand on his gun. 

“I could see something flicker in the eyes of 
Dreer. He had his gun in a bad position—by the 
muzzle—but I thought for a minute that he was 
going to flip it and try to get Claney first—and 
I think he could of done it. 

“But he says: ‘It ain’t such a pretty party with 
you on the receiving end, sheriff. Speaking personal, 
sheriffs ain’t been my bunkies, generally. But here’s 
the gun, Claney.’ 

“ ‘How d’you know me ?’ asked the sheriff. 

“ ‘I can tell you by the scar on your forehead/ 
says Jess.” 

There was a cry of pain from Mary Valentine. 

“Ay,” said the boy fiercely, “cry and wring 
your hands, Mary Valentine, but that won’t save 
Jess Dreer. And he’s going to be saved!” 

“Charlie,” pleaded the girl, “let me have a chance 
to help!” 

“Keep away, Mary. I’ll tell you why. I been 
thinking about you all the way home. I been think¬ 
ing about you ever since Jess Dreer talked to me 
that way and gave me that message for you. It 
was on account of you that he done it. 

“And who was the cause of the whole thing? 
It was you! You made the fight between me and 


PUNISHED 


183 


Joe Norman. And that fight laid the plan for 
this. IPs on account of you that Jud Boone is dead 
just when he was trying to get a new start and be 
a decent man. It's on account of you that the 
finest man that ever wore a gun is waiting in jail 
for a rope. And I say that you ought to be pun¬ 
ished some way for it.” 

He had risen on tiptoe; his whole body had 
swelled to a greater size as he poured out the de¬ 
nunciation. “I don't know how, but-” 

Morgan Valentine stepped in between them. 

“You’ve talked enough,” he interrupted. 

“Let him talk,” said the girl, and she smiled in 
a singular manner. “But I want you to know 
that I’m punished already, Charlie. More than I 
can bear. Because I love Jess Dreer!” 

There was a stifled exclamation from Elizabeth. 

But Charlie turned his rage into a sneer. 

“You love him?” he said scornfully. “Well, 
you’ve had considerable practice loving men!” 

And Mary bowed her head. 



CHAPTER XXV 


BEHIND THE BARS 

V/ OU see/’ was the manner in which Clancy 
greeted his brother sheriff from the southland, 
* 4 that you was wrong, Caswell, and that Jess Dreer 
wasn’t taken near the Valentine ranch.” 

“But the theory was right enough,” protested 
Caswell. “And it was on account of the Valentines 
that he got into this mix-up.” 

Sheriff Claney smiled benevolently on his com¬ 
panion. 

“Theory is one way, but practice may be a mighty 
long ways off from it. It was this time.” 

“Well, I’m free to say that you’re right. I ain’t 
one that falls in love with my mistakes, pardner. 
Besides, you’re a gent with a pretty good head, 
Claney, which makes it a whole pile easier to be 
beaten out by you.” 

It was a very neat little tribute, and it was de¬ 
livered in a voice so sincere that Sheriff Claney 
had the grace to blush. 

“Here I was,” pursued Caswell, “after foffering 
this Jess Dreer for years, and knowing him like 
I knew myself, almost, and yet you step in at 
the right minute and grab him. It’s a pretty piece 
of work. I thought you’d be miles away from Salt 
Springs hunting for the trail of him.” 

Sheriff Claney cleared his throat; it would be 
long before he explained the purely adventitious 


BEHIND THE BARS 185 

circumstances which had brought him to Salt Springs 
that day. 

“But,” ran on the man from the southland, “now 
that you got him, you want to look sharp that you 
keep him. I looked over your jail and it don’t 
look none too man-proof, to say nothing of being 
Dreer-proof!” 

“Leave all that worry to me, pardner, because 
I ain’t going to let my bird get away ag’in.” 

“What you doing to him?” 

“Got an iron on his feet and got his hands 
shackled in front of him.” 

Sheriff Caswell whistled. 

“That’s kind of harsh.” 

“The hound tried to make a mock of me, Cas¬ 
well. He had worse’n the irons coming to him. 
But—to-morrow morning I start south with him, 
so I w T on’t have to bother with him long in that 
paper-walled jail. And while he’s there he’s got to 
grin and bear the irons.” 

Sheriff Caswell was deep in thought. 

“Well,” and he sighed, “I wouldn’t be in your 
boots for considerable money if he was to get 
away. He’d most likely drop in for a call.” 

“Let him call,” replied the sheriff stoutly, though 
his mouth tightened a little. “I ain’t been a sheriff 
such a short time that I’m afraid of lawbreakers. 
They ain’t none of them that can get the jump 
on an honest man.” 

“H’m,” remarked Sheriff Caswell. 

At this, the other became markedly uneasy. 

“Matter of fact,” he said, “I’d like to have you 
look him over. You know him better’n I do. You 


186 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


might iook him over in the cell and see if you 
think he's safe there. I got to go out in the country 
now, but this afternoon-” 

‘Til be on my way south this afternoon maybe.” 

“Well, go over by yourself, Caswell.” 

“All right. But they ain't any real call for it, 
I guess.” 

“I’d like to have you.” 

And that was the reason that Sheriff Caswell 
entered the Salt Springs jail that day. 

It was a little square, squat building of home¬ 
made brick. It looked like a fort of the primitive 
days. Through such narrow, barred windows the 
defenders could have fired at Indians, say. A bat¬ 
tered old fort, for the weather had nicked and 
chipped and scarred it as much as a prolonged 
musketry fire. In reality it was not ten years old. 
The sheriff had his office here. Behind the two 
rooms which served for that purpose, there were 
two rooms fenced with the finest tool-proof steel 
both on the sides and above. Sheriff Claney had 
refused to run for reelection unless he was given the 
proper cage for his prisoners, and Claney was so 
valued as a man catcher in Salt Springs that the 
citizens provided him with his man-proof trap. 
Beyond these two cells was a narrow passageway 
in which the citizens could flock to look over the 
captives. 

There were not many on this day, for Claney 
feared that some one of the sympathizers—and 
for some reason Salt Springs was singularly inter¬ 
ested in the southland outlaw who had killed Jud 
Boone—might convey to Dreer a tool with which 



BEHIND THE BARS 


187 


he could effect his escape. For this reason he al¬ 
lowed only those who carried special passes signed 
by himself to enter the jail to-day. The mob stayed 
outside. 

Sheriff Caswell found one of the favored coming 
out as he entered. It was Mary Valentine., whose 
father was too powerful near Salt Springs for the 
requests of his children to be denied. She walked 
with her head high, her face white, her eyes starry, 
and her mouth so firmly set that the sheriff knew 
she would burst into tears as soon as she was 
beyond the public eye. 

But at sight of the sheriff the tears were whipped 
from her eyes and a color of anger mounted into 
her cheeks. 

“You’re one of those who’ve hounded him down 
to this/' she said softly and fiercely. “And I want 
you to know one woman’s opinion—that he’s worth 
a thousand of men like you—ten thousand!” 

The sheriff looked mildly upon her. He took 
off his hat and turned it thoughtfully in his hands 
while she spoke. Then he said with his one-sided, 
whimsical smile: “My dear, you’re not alone. You’ll 
find Salt Springs full of people who agree with 
you about Jess Dreer. And all of them aren’t girls.” 

She was about to break out in a storm of scorn 
again, but something in the patient eyes of Sheriff 
Caswell made her stop, look at him very closely, 
and then go on without another word. At the end 
of the passage she turned again—he had not moved 
foot or hand—and looked back at him. One might 
have said that there was a misty appeal in the eyes 
of Mary Valentine. 


i88 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


For some time longer the sheriff remained in this 
singularly devout attitude—just as if he were stand¬ 
ing before the painting of some difficult and high- 
priced master. At length he sighed, and replacing 
his hat on Lis head, far back, he sauntered on into 
the interior of the jail. 

He was amazed at the precautions with which this 
rare prisoner was surrounded. At the door to the 
inner passage past the cells were two guards, each 
with a pair of revolvers swung at his belt and 
each with a sawed-off shotgun. 

That was intended, no doubt, to check r rush 
which might be made by friends of Dreer—other 
outlaws, perhaps, though it was known that Dreer 
usually rode alone. The sheriff looked with a 
bright eye on those shotguns. In his experience 
with men of action he had never found anything 
with quite such a sedative effect as the sawed-off 
shotgun with its big bullets and scattering murder 
at short range. 

These two guards examined the slip of paper 
which Sheriff Claney had signed. They both had 
seen Caswell before, but they were exceedingly strict 
in their surveillance. Finally, when he was admitted, 
the sheriff remarked two other guards walking up 
and down in the passageway, both equally armed 
to the teeth. 

And all this on account of a man lodged behind 
tool-proof steel bars and beneath bars of the same 
nature, with a floor beneath him of closely set 
stones of huge size. Suppose a man could loosen 
one of those stones, he would have to call for help 
before he could budge it. But even if he budged 


BEHIND THE BARS 


189 

it, there was still a trick remaining; the outer edge 
of the walls were projected deep into the ground 
with the same tool-proof steel, covered with tar 
paint. 

One might have turned a giant loose in such a 
prison and scoffed at his attempts to escape. No 
human force could either cut that steel or bend it, 
and unless one of these things were done the only 
possible means of entering or leaving that cell was 
through the door with its ponderous lock which 
only one key could turn. 

Yet Sheriff Claney was not satisfied with surety. 
He added something more. He had locked the 
ankles of Jess Dreer to a hundred-and-fifty-pound 
iron ball and his hands were shackled before him 
with the most approved manacles. And in this 
wise Dreer sat on his cot smoking a cigarette of 
his own making. It was an odd thing to see him 
raise both ironed hands and laboriously place that 
little cigarette between his lips and remove it again. 

“So,” said the sheriff, “here you are, Jess!” 

Jess Dreer started; then his long, lean face 
wrinkled into a kindly smile. 

“Why, Caswell, I’m glad to see you again. Wait 
till I work my way over to the bars, and we’ll shake 
hands.” 

“Never mind, Jess. I’ll come inside.” 

“No, you won’t,” put in one of the guards. 

“Look here,” explained the patient sheriff. “I’m 
Sheriff Caswell. I’ve followed that man for years. 
Do you think they’s any danger of me helping 
him to get loose?” 

“Pardner,” said the guard, scratching his head. 


190 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“I dunno but what you're right, but orders is or¬ 
ders, and Claney was downright positive about what 
he said. Nobody is to go into that cell. Nobody, 
not even to take him grub. It's all got to be 
passed through the bars." 

Jess Dreer was already standing up. The manacles 
on his ankles gave him a play of about four inches, 
and that was the length of his step. Moreover, 
every time he took a step the weight of the iron 
pried at hum and often nearly toppled him to the 
floor. Only the exercise of the greatest leg power 
enabled him to struggle painfully across the floor. 
Yet he maintained the greatest good nature. And 
though the perspiration started on his forehead, 
he chuckled whenever the tug of the iron ball nearly 
threw him off his balance. 

Sheriff Caswell cursed softly, and the guard, flush¬ 
ing, declared that this was none of his work. 

“Claney ain’t taking no chances," he declared. 
“And the sheriff says that if anybody can get 
something to Dreer with four of us gents looking 
on, he’s welcome to it." 

At this Sheriff Caswell grinned. 

“I’m glad to see Claney has the sporting spirit," 
he said. “A little chance is better’n none at all." 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE SPORTING SPIRIT 

TV 7 ITH this, since Dreer was now close to the 
bars, the sheriff went forward and held out 
his hand. But he was caught at the same time by 
either shoulder and flung strongly backward. 

“None of that!” cried the two guards who paced 
the passage. “None of that, Caswell! Nobody’s 
to pass nothing through them bars.” 

The sheriff remained silent for a moment. His 
hat had been knocked down over one eye by the 
violence of that jerk, and now the muscles at the 
angle of his jaw bulged. But at length he smiled 
and quietly straightened his sombrero. 

“Not even a bare hand?” he asked, showing that 
inoffensive member. 

Sheriff Caswell looked from the face of one 
guard to the other. Something about his look ap¬ 
peared to be intensely interesting to Jess Dreer. 

“Well,” said the sheriff, “I see you boys are a 
mighty smart pair. Claney must of picked you 
out real special. And if that’s the way you work 
it, I’ll play with the same rules.” 

He turned to the prisoner. 

“I dunno just why I came, Jess. It wasn’t sure 
to look you over and gloat on seeing you behind 
the bars. You believe that?” 

“Pardner, I know it.” 

“Matter of fact,” and the sheriff nodded, gratified 


192 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


by this admission, “Fm mighty sorry for you, old 
man. Wish it had been a different end. Wish 
you’d gone down for the last time with your boots 
on, and two guns working.” 

“You forget, Caswell. I’m not a two-gun man. 
I ain’t got that many talents.” 

The sheriff grinned again. 

“You got enough talent to pass,” he declared. 
“But when I think of what lies in front of you, 

Jess-” He stopped abruptly. “I suppose I 

shouldn’t talk about them things, though.” 

“It’s all right. No harm done. I’ll tell you how 
it was. I might of busted through the boys, but I 
didn’t have the nerve. I got sort of tired. Didn’t 
seem like it was worth while taking the long chance 
—and killing a pile of boys I’d never had a grudge 
agin’. But here I am, and no whining, Caswell. 
But I’m sorry for you.” 

At this the patient man gasped. He was openly 
astonished. 

“Sorry for me. Now, is that a joke, Dreer?” 

“It ain’t. You hear me talk straight talk to-day, 
pardner. Of all the gents that ever took my trail 
you’re the squarest shooter, the cleanest hand, the 
best head. Of the whole gang I’d rather of been 
taken by you. Caswell, I mean that so much that 
I sort of hanker to shake hands on it!” 

“Claney had his own ideas about that,” said the 
sheriff very quietly. 

“Speak up, gents!” exclaimed one of the guards. 
“Speak up so the four of us can hear you.” 

The sheriff turned deliberately and looked them 


THE SPORTING SPIRIT 


193 


one by one in the eye; then he said to Jess Dreer: 
“You must be pretty young, Jess; they got you 
chaperoned to a finish.” 

“Yep,” nodded Dreer, and he also looked with 
singular attention at the four, “they got a lot of 
thoughtful gents around Salt Springs. I’ll try to 
remember ’em all. Well, I don’t kick. This is a 
pile drier night than the time you run me through 
the hills down by Lawson, sheriff.” 

“Speaking of Lawson, I’ve always wondered how 
you got past me through them hills, Jess.” 

“Didn’t go through the hills, sheriff. I tried to 
twice and then I found that you’d got your posse 
strung out about one man every hundred feet.” 

“Well, that made it sure you couldn’t come 
through, Jess.” 

“Sure it did. I couldn’t come through as myself, 
so I come through as somebody else. You know how 
you had your scouts out ahead of the rest? I rode 
right back to the line like I was one of the scouts. 
It was along about evening; pretty dim. I sings 
out that you want ’em to close up—rode back part 
ways with ’em—and then ducked away. Went 1 
straight on through Lawson with Angelina trotting 
or walking, and nobody even looked crosswise at 
me. They expected I’d be going the other way as 
fast as the old hoss would take me.” 

Sheriff Caswell swore again, and his eyes lighted. 

“You’re a fox, Dreer.” 

“Fox or no fox, you’ve give me a great run for 
the money—and I wish you had it coming into your 
money bags, sheriff.” 


194 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


Caswell flushed. “I was never on your trail for 
the price, Jess.” 

“I believe it, pardner.” 

“But seems like Til have a pretty empty kind of 
life, Jess, with you gone. The old days is ended. 
I’ll hang up my guns and let ’em rust.” 

Here, after a brief consultation with one of his 
companions, a guard approached them. 

“Claney ordered that if any gent come in and 
got real friendly with Dreer, we was to run him 
out. I guess that goes with you, Caswell.” 

“Ain’t you stepping kind of hard?” 

“I’m taking no chances. Well, if you two want 
to swap lies about old times, go ahead for five 
minutes more.” 

The sheriff nodded. He turned to Jess Dreer 
and for a moment looked at him without a word. 

“Seeing this here jail, Jess,” he began at length, 
“reminds me of an old shack I used to run down 
the country. Full of holes that jail was. Remem¬ 
ber Garry Smith ? I had him three times, and 
every time he got clean off. Then I sent him up, 
and when he’d come through with his term I swore 
him in as a deputy and got him to show me how 
he used to get clear of the irons. Man, man, it 
was a sight to watch Garry work! Nothing in 
the shape of an iron could stick on him. He had 
long hands like yours, and he showed me how he 
could bunch up his hands and make them smaller’n 
his wrists and shake the bracelets off’n him.” 

“Never tried leg irons on him, eh?” said Jess. 

“I never believed in treating a man like a dog,” 
said the sheriff with a side glance at the guards, 


THE SPORTING SPIRIT 


195 


“but after Garry was my deputy I put on the ankle 
irons for fun. Didn’t see how he could make his 
feet smaller’n his ankles.” 

“But he did?” 

“Sure, he didn't . But after he got his hands 
loose he’d take out a little bit of a watch spring 
and go to work on the lock of his leg irons. He 
tried to show me how it was done, but I couldn’t 
get the hang of it. I don’t suppose you know how 
to work a lock like that, eh?” 

Jess Dreer looked the sheriff straight between the 
eyes. 

“No,” he said slowly, drawling the word. 

There was just a twinkle in the eyes of the 
sheriff. 

“I thought not,” he remarked. 

“But where did Garry keep the watch spring? 
Didn’t you search him?” 

“Clean down to the skin, after the first time, but 
the second time he’d put it in his hair, and the 
third time he’d put it between his big toe and the 
second toe—they was sort of hammered together 
and didn’t spread out when he walked around bare¬ 
footed. That was how he got the watch spring 
into the jail.” 

“Then you didn’t give him the kind of a search 
Claney gave me,” said Jess Dreer. His jaw* set 
like iron. Then he went on: “He even combed 
my hair, sheriff, if you can believe that.” 

“Somehow,” said the sheriff, “I can.” 

He was fumbling in his vest pocket with thumb 
and forefinger. He brought out a toothpick. 


196 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

‘‘Time’s up, Caswell,” called the guard who had 
last spoken. 

“All right, friend.” And the sheriff turned. 

The cells were dimly lighted from a skylight, 
brown back above the passage where the guards 
walked up and down on their beat. Jess Dreer, to 
relax the suspicious interest with which the guards 
watched him while he talked with Caswell, had gone 
back to his bunk. And now, by the dim light, 
something glittered faintly in an arc that disap¬ 
peared at the feet of Dreer. Also, there was a 
tinkle of metal on stone. 

“What’s that?” cried the guard. 

“What?” asked Dreer, lifting his head. 

Sheriff Caswell had completed the motion of rais¬ 
ing his hand to his mouth and now had a tooth¬ 
pick between his teeth. 

“Something jingled, sort of. Something near 
you, Dreer.” 

“I tell you, son,” drawled the outlaw, “when you 
get older, you^ll find out that chains rattle now and 
then.” 

At this the guard flushed. In reality he did not 
wish to persecute this silent, gentle-appearing man 
with too many suspicions. 

“Sounded sort of smaller and lighter than the 
chains,” he grumbled. 

Jess Dreer had moved one of his feet and now 
kept it still. 

“S’long, sheriff,” he said. 

“S’long, Jess.” 

“If they’s a slip, sheriff, and I get loose ag’in, 
I’ll be glad to have you back on my trail.” 


THE SPORTING SPIRIT 


197 


‘‘Jess, don’t you make no mistake. If you was 
to get free, I’d foller you to the end of the world 
and drop you if I got the chance.” 

“Same here, sheriff. Thanks for looking me up. 
Good-by.” 

He tried to make a gesture of farewell, but the 
manacles checked him, and the best he could do 
was to rouse a harsh rattling of the chain. 

“Now, there’s what I call a friendly man.” said 
Jess to one of the guards, and he began to roll a 
cigarette. 

“He talks too much,” answered two of the guards 
in chorus. 

“Well, sir,” said Jess, “most generally when he 
talks a lot he’s got something to say.” 

At this point the cigarette paper fluttered down 
out of his hand and came to a rest beside his foot. 
He leaned over, moved his foot, and when he sat 
up again the paper was in the tips of his fingers, 
and against the palm of his hand was a little strip 
of strong steel, a watch spring. 


CHAPTER XXVn 


WHEN OPPORTUNITY KNOCKED 

9 1 'HERE were other visits on that afternoon. 

One by one the Valentine family came in, 
for two were not allowed to be present at once. 

Charlie was first straight as a soldier before the 
tool-proof bars, and as white as when he faced Jud 
Boone in Dan Carrol’s place. He tried to speak. 

“Son,” said Jess Dreer very gently, “you run 
along. You’re a clean one, Charlie. I know every¬ 
thing you want to say. I’d a lot rather have you 
think it than say it. So long, old man!” 

And the boy blundered out. Even the guards 
were moved by him and his silent anguish. 

Then Mrs. Valentine and Elizabeth, for the ex¬ 
ception was made that the two women might come 
and stand huddled against the wall and stare at 
Jess Dreer. It was dusk now; but two big lan¬ 
terns with powerful reflectors behind them, were 
trained upon Dreer and made his face appear 
older, more seamed, paler than before. Also, it 
kept his eyes altering between black shadow as he 
lowered his head and a flash of the pupils as he 
looked up. 

And these, also, said nothing; they thought that 
speech was forbidden. But the mother looked on 
Jess Dreer as some woman of the old days might 
have looked on a knight of the Holy Grail—a man 
unapproachable. 


WHEN OPPORTUNITY, KNOCKED 199 

Tender-hearted Louis was next to last; and he 
wept like a child. The guards smiled and nudged 
one another. 

“Pardner,” said Dreer in a voice that the boy 
never forgot. “You ain’t got any call to be 
ashamed even if these gents grin at you. The day’ll 
come when you’ll be a harder-handed man than any 
of ’em—a harder-handed man than Charlie, even. 
Good luck to you, pardner.” 

And Louis went out with his head high; and he 
looked the guards fiercely in the face. 

Last of all the father came. He was such a 
man that even the guards stood back from him. 
They knew Morgan Valentine. He spoke with a 
ring in his voice that had never been there since his 
brother died. 

“I’ve sent East for a lawyer,” he said. “And 
I’ve started to get at the governor. I know him 
myself and I know he’ll listen. You’re going to 
get every chance that exists, Dreer.” 

Then he outlined briefly exactly how his influence 
would be brought to bear—all the little cogs that 
would be turned. 

But in the end Dreer said: “Valentine, you’re 
wasting your time and your money. I thank you 
for it, but it won’t do any good. Law is law, and 
a dead man is a dead man. Why, looking at it 
impersonal, I’d say the law was a joke if it didn’t 
hang me. So long.” 

After that, it was night. But just before the 
complete dark Sheriff Claney came in from the 
country. He looked over his guards and noted their 
readiness with words of approbation. They were 


200 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

chosen men. He told them what their duties were, 
just as a good general keeps repeating his instruc¬ 
tions to his subordinates on the day of the battle. 

To-morrow, he said, they would have him on 
the way south to the county seat, surrounded by 
men day and night, and well on the way to the 
gallows—unless he were lynched on the way when 
he reached his own country. In the meantime the 
thing to watch for was an attempt from the out¬ 
side. He might have friends in Salt Springs who 
would make an attempt. The Valentines were indi¬ 
rectly struck at in this. Four choice men patrolled 
the outside walls of the jail, and they would keep 
off any surprise. Yet in spite of bars and shackles, 
there must always be at least one man in the pas¬ 
sage, walking up and down and keeping an eye on 
the prisoner himself. 

“And if he acts queer, don’t take no chances. 
Shoot him down. I’ll be your warrant for it.” 

He faced Jess Dreer when he said this, and the 
tall man rose and elaborately bowed. 

“Mr. Murderer Claney,” he said, as though ac¬ 
knowledging an introduction. 

And Claney showed his teeth when he grinned. 

To be sure, his part in the actual taking of Dreer 
had been almost nothing, but the very fact that he 
was intimately connected with such a man would 
make him a household word throughout the moun¬ 
tain desert. He would willingly have sacrificed ten 
years out of his life rather than see this man go 
free. 

He heard himself talked of; in the eye of his 
mind he saw future thousands point at him. 


WHEN! OPPORTUNITY KNOCKED 201 

‘There’s the man who sent Jess Dreer to the gal¬ 
lows.” 

And the thought was sweet to Claney. 

After this visit, the night watch began. 

Not that Sheriff Claney retired for the night. 
He kept coming back at half-hour or hour inter¬ 
vals, and fastened his keen glance on his prisoner, 
almost as though he feared the famous outlaw 
would evaporate. 

For a time Jess Dreer smoked, talked with the 
guards, who grunted their answers, and hummed 
softly to himself. 

But after a while, weaiy but unable to get onto 
the little couch comfortably because of the leg chain 
and ball, he slouched over in a corner with one 
shoulder against the wall. The weight of the mana¬ 
cles seemed to pull his long arms straight down so 
that they almost touched the floor. At least, it 
brought his hands upon the leg irons. 

As the guards saw him take this position of rest 
they were inclined to show one bit of mercy by 
letting him sleep out the remainder of the night if 
he could. But the sheriff, the next time he made 
his rounds, cursed them for their tender-hearted¬ 
ness. Let Dreer sleep with the light in his face. 
And did they not know that if this devil were able, 
he’d kill them all in order to get away? 

So the guards changed the direction of the light 
from the two big reflectors, and focused it carefully 
on the outlaw. 

And in that position he was forced to work, with 
the light dashing full upon him. 

In a way it was a help, for even the most sus- 


20 %. 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


picious person would not suspect a man of trying 
to free himself in the glow of such a radiance, with 
four pairs of eyes turned on him again and again, 
a dozen times a minute. 

Joe Chalmers alone would have been enough. He 
was the most trusted of the sheriff’s henchmen. 
To him had been given the priceless key to the 
door of the cell. It hung at his cartridge belt. He 
had discarded his heavy, sawed-off shotgun, and 
instead of standing post he walked up and down 
the passage steadily, hour after hour, and the little 
eyes never lagged for a moment in their wariness. 
There was something terrible, something of the 
animal in this endless patience. To understand it 
one would only have to watch the wolf slinking 
ceaselessly up and down behind the bars of the 
cage. 

In sheer bulk of muscle he might have been a 
match, single-handed, for the sinewy strength of 
Jess Dreer. And he had the facial conformation of 
a bulldog, the nose flattened away and the mouth 
and jaw huge, while his head was that bullet type 
which is incapable of holding more than one idea 
at a time. Yet for all his bulk Joe Chalmers was 
an agile man. 

He was proud of the precedence which the sheriff 
had given to him. His pacing up and down kept 
him the center of attraction as he walked in a nar¬ 
row ellipse, turning toward the cell at one end of 
his path, and turning away at the farther end. And 
the other three interior guards naturally fell back 
and allowed Joe Chalmers to carry the main bur¬ 
den of responsibility. After all, it was he who had 


WHEN OPPORTUNITY KNOCKED 203 

been reproved for not following the new position 
of Dreer with the lantern light, and it would be 
he who would be praised for their united vigilance. 

He was a host of watchfulness in himself. Dur¬ 
ing all his pacing he never took his eye from the 
prisoner except for the moment when, at the end 
of his beat nearest Dreer, he turned his back to 
take the back track down the passageway. 

And during this half second, as the big man was 
turning, the active, strong fingers of Jess Dreer 
made a single deft movement, and between his fin¬ 
gers the stout little piece of watch spring turned 
in the lock. 

Yet when the guard bent his eye on the prisoner 
again, the hands were once more motionless. Even 
if a guard had seen that motion of fingers, he 
would probably have thought it a convulsive move¬ 
ment, a twitch of the nerves as the man slept. For 
his head was fallen, and only through the long, 
sunburned eyelashes did he watch his guards and 
time the play of that watch spring. 

It was tedious work. His arms ached from the 
awkward position. He had only a second of con¬ 
tact through the spring with the lock within. And 
after that contact he had to wait, studying the lock 
in his mind, remembering what he had done before, 
guessing at the mechanism, and ready with some 
new movement when the next opportunity came. 

Still nothing happened; the lock held firmly; the 
iron crushed into his ankles for the manacles were 
too small. 

He had really given up hope some time before. 
His arms were numb and the nerves asleep from 


204 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


the shoulders down, yet he kept mechanically to his 
effort—one twitch of the spring each time the guard 
turned at the near end of his beat. 

And then—he hardly knew what happened, except 
that the spring encountered something which re¬ 
sisted and yet yielded. And suddenly he felt the 
pressure of the iron about his ankles relax. 

His legs were free! They were free, but not 
yet useful. From having kept off his feet for so 
long a time, the pressure of the iron had shut off 
the flow of the blood, and now they were numb, 
paralyzed. 

He looked down; the irons remained apparently 
in place. Was it the weight of his hand that kept 
them there? He lifted his fingers—the manacles 
still stayed in place. But what if some unguarded 
movement should make the iron fall off with a 
rattle ? 

Now that the blood began to flow once more, 
his feet tingled, and it was almost impossible to 
keep them motionless. He set his teeth, and the 
perspiration burst out on his face. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE ATTEMPT 

A MOVEMENT with his arms was now neces- 
** sary. He covered it adroitly by openly yawn¬ 
ing—a sound that made every one of the guards 
whirl toward him. But they saw him straighten 
a little and drop his hands so that the manacles 
rested exactly between his knees. And then the 
pacing of Joe Chalmers began again, and the others 
relaxed. They were beginning to envy the resting 
figure of the prisoner. 

Once more Jess Dreer began the subtle, careful 
movements. Of a. different kind this time and neces¬ 
sarily more open. For each time that Joe Chalmers 
turned his back he had to fold his hands together 
and strive to draw them back through the handcuffs. 
But the manacles fitted close, and these tugs were 
far more obvious. Yet the looseness of the sleeves 
of his shirt covered the careful movements of his 
arms to some extent. Also, the four guards were 
convinced that the man was now asleep. 

Only Joe Chalmers continued to keep his eye on 
the figure under the brilliant light. 

Still that patient work went on. Until his hands 
were wet with perspiration and the skin was chafed 
from his wrists. Indeed, it was the perspiration 
which made the thing possible. The bruised wrist 
bones suddenly slipped through—the broad part of 
the hand was crushed together under the strain, and 


206 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


now—oddly light—his hands lay free upon his 
knees. He thrust them quickly down between his 
knees and waited. Though what he waited for he 
could not tell. At least, it was impossible to do 
anything with four men waiting there in the pas¬ 
sage. He suddenly realized how foolish, how futile, 
all his work had been. 

Yet a great happiness was surging through his 
veins. His hands were free! Strength seemed to 
be descending upon him, showered out of the air. 

And then—it came like a bolt on him: “Hey, 
Jess Dreer!” 

He looked up. There stood the sheriff outside 
the bars, grinning at him. Had the sheriff seen 
all those futile efforts and now come to mock the 
prisoner with his knowledge? Or, worse still, was 
it dawn, and time for the journey to begin? 

He looked up beyond the brilliance of the shaft 
of lantern light and saw that the square of the 
trapdoor onto the roof of the passage was indeed 
gray. The early light of day! Despair fell upon 
him. He was suddenly weak with it. 

And this was what Sheriff Claney said: “Dreer, 
1 forgot to tell you: Angelina gets a slug through 
her head as soon as it's light enough for me to 
see her.” 

The outlaw was stunned. 

“The boys tried to ride her yesterday, and she 
pitched Gaston and then tried to eat him. We’re 
going to put her out of trouble, seeing that you 
won’t have no more use for her.” 

“Claney,” said Jess, when he could speak, “give 


THE ATTEMPT 207 

the old hoss a chance. Take her out into the hills 
and turn her loose.” 

The sheriff laughed. 

“Sort of riles you, don't it, Dreer?” 

And the tall man studied him. 

“Why do you hate me, Claney?” 

“Why does any honest man hate a man-killing 
thief?” returned the sheriff. 

There was a long pause. Even the guards were 
stirred. Joe Chalmers stood scratching his head, 
and his face was troubled. Plainly he felt that all 
was not right, but he could not discover just why. 
Only something did not please him. 

“I’ll tell you why you hate me,” said Dreer. 
“You’re one of them small-souled skunks that hate 
a man they’re afraid of.” 

The sheriff burst into a torrent of curses. 

“I’ll find ways of making this up to you, Dreer!” 

But the big man did not hear him. He said at 
length: “Well, good-by, Angelina. And Heaven 
help you, Claney, if I ever get clear of the jail!” 

The sheriff smiled again. He had a most evil 
smile. 

“It’ll be over behind Carrol’s place in the cor¬ 
ral,” he said as he went out. “If you listen sharp, 
maybe you’ll hear the shot. It’ll be in about half 
an hour.” And he was gone. 

The guards for a moment muttered together, but 
their commiseration of Dreer was interrupted by a 
clangor of tin in the outer office of the jail, and 
then a cheery voice calling: “Chuck, boys. Leave 
one of you gents to keep watch, and the others 
tumble out here and have doughnuts and coffee.” 


208 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


It brought a shout from the three; but Joe Chal¬ 
mers shook his head. 

“I ain’t hungry,” he said. ‘This is meat and 
drink for me!” he gestured at the prisoner in the 
cage. 

So the three went out. They left the door wide. 
One of them came back and stood in the lighted 
opening, tempting their companion with the steam¬ 
ing cup and a handful of doughnuts. But Joe 
Chalmers shook his head doggedly and went on. 

“What if something happens?” he said. “Who’ll 
get the blame? You gents have your lunch. I 
don’t need none.” 

He took a tug at his belt and continued the pac- 
ing, grumbling in his deep voice. He vented his 
anger by pausing at the bars and glaring at the 
prisoner. Then he resumed his pacing, but the 
moment he was on his way a change began to take 
place in Jess Dreer’s position. He did not wait 
now for the guard to have his back turned before 
he began to move. He had not time. For his plan 
was formed, and in that plan the saving of every 
available second was essential. 

He began to move, but very slowly, gradually, 
steadily. He drew his hands back, he straightened 
by fractions of inches, he pushed himself forward 
on the bed so that his weight fell more and more 
on his feet. 

Then, when he had gone as far as he dared, he 
began to gather himself for the attempt. If it 
failed, there would be either instant death, or else a 
certain death in the future. But he was ready for 


THE ATTEMPT 


209 


the chance. He began to gather his muscles under 
him as the football linesman crouches and grows 
tense as he hears his quarter back calling the signal 
and knows that the next play is coming his way. 
His way, and the goal inches ahead! 

Down the passage swung the bulky form of Joe 
Chalmers. He paused halfway. Had he seen? 
No, he went on again; he turned at the end, and 
the moment his eyes had swung away, Dreer sprang. 

One leap swept him out of the shaft of light, 
across the cell, and up to the bars. The back of 
Joe Chalmers was squarely turned, but as though 
he had eyes in the back of his head—perhaps some 
play of shadows had startled him—he whirled. 

It was too late for the outlaw to swing the hand¬ 
cuffs with which he had intended to strike down 
the guard. In mid-air literally he saw the big man 
swerve and changed his plan. His feet struck the 
stone floor; he bounded forward again, and just 
as Chalmers swung fairly about, the fist of Dreer 
drove out the length of his sinewy arm with two 
hundred pounds of plunging weight behind it. 

The blow struck Chalmers fairly on the point of 
the chin and flung him back against the wall. Back 
against the wall. That was the thing that broke 
the heart of Dreer, for if he fell there, Chalmers’ 
body would be out of reach. 

And it was even doubtful if he would fall. The 
brutal jaw might have absorbed the shock without 
transmitting enough of it to daze that brutal mind. 
Now Chalmers stood with sagging mouth, his shoul¬ 
ders against the wall, his eyes utterly senseless. 


210 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


His knees buckled; he sank gradually, and then 
rolled on the floor. 

“Heh, Joe, fall down?” 

Dreer waited, his heart knocked at his teeth. But 
the question was not repeated. Looking through 
the open door he saw big, shapeless shadows brush¬ 
ing across the farther wall. He could make out 
the caricature of a head. 

Then he dropped to his knees and stretched out 
his arm. His fingers fell short of the senseless 
body. He tried again, grinding the flesh of his 
shoulder against the iron, and this time his finger 
tips reached the shirt. He gathered it into a hand¬ 
ful, cautiously, and when his grip was sound, tugged 
the big body slowly toward the bars. The shirt 
began to give way under the strain, and before it 
should tear with a loud noise he shifted his hold, 
and this time he barely was able to reach the belt. 
Now the body came easily enough, the legs and the 
head trailing back. It was near; it was close to the 
bars. One moment of fumbling and the key was 
in the hand of the outlaw. 

Now a door opened into the outer office. There 
was a tumult of shadows on the wall as Jess ran 
silently to the door. 

“Chalmers! Booze!” 

That call could not go without an answer. 

“To the devil with the booze,” Jess Dreer an¬ 
swered, deepening his voice as close as possible to 
the tone of the guard. 

And in the excitement of the moment in the 
office they did not note the difference. 

Now the lock gave under the key silently, for 


THE ATTEMPT 


2II 


it was well oiled and new. A moment later Jess 
Dreer stood with the belt of Chalmers buckled 
around his waist and a gun in his hand. 

Well for the guards in the outer room that one 
of them did not look in on the prisoner at that 
moment! 

Yet he was still far from liberty. Far, indeed, 
for the only two exits lay either through the office 
itself or through the skylight and out onto the 
roof. He turned the chances swiftly in his mind. 
He might rush through that outer office and escape 
without being shot in the flurry of excitement, but 
the chances were large against him. On the other 
hand, if he gained the roof there were the four 
men who walked their posts, one for each side of 
the prison. Yet the duil light of the dawn would 
make for bad shooting. 

He made up his mind, and drew back for a run 
and a jump at the edge of the trapdoor. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


PURSUIT 

IT was a big jump, and the great danger was that, 
* in missing, his impact on the floor would surely* 
alarm the men in the office, so he gathered himself, 
ran swiftly on his toes, and sprang. His hands 
slapped on the edge of the framing, the fingers 
slipped—and heid. 

He was swinging like a pendulum from the impe¬ 
tus of the leap, and taking advantage of the back¬ 
ward sway, he drew himself with a lunge through 
the skylight, and his knee rested on the roof. 

Only now did he realize what freedom would 
mean. The gallows which had been his familiar 
thought, the death which he had been nerving him¬ 
self to die, became dim, misted ghosts behind his 
conscious mind. And he saw, to the east, a long 
streak of white light, and the black hills tumbled 
away under it. There was his freedom! 

He skirted across the flat roof, and at an angle 
looked down. Beneath him paced two men, meet¬ 
ing at the corner on each beat, and then turning 
their backs, like soldiers, and swinging off in oppo¬ 
site directions. Within three paces they were out 
of sight of each other, so Dreer drew back along 
one side and crouched to wait. 

They were calling inside, thunderously loud: . 
“Chalmers, Chalmers!” 

Seconds would tell the story now, and how slow 


PURSUIT 


213 


that fellow dragged along his beat, met his com¬ 
panion at the corner, and turned back. Half a 
dozen steps—a yell tore up from the inside of the 
prison, and the guard halted abruptly and looked 
behind him. 

At that instant, like a black panther from an over¬ 
hanging bough, Dreer dropped. His knees struck 
the fellow at the nape of the neck, and the blow 
stunned him. He was pitched upon his face, and 
Jess rolled half a dozen steps away, and came to 
his feet again, running low and fast across the clear¬ 
ing toward the nearest house, his revolver in his 
hand. 

But not a shot followed him. The yell from the 
prison had dissolved into a shouting of many voices, 
and no doubt the other outer guards had hurried in¬ 
side the jail at the very moment when they were 
needed on the outside. A moment later Jess was in 
the black shadow behind the first house. 

It was his right direction, luckily, and he cut 
straight ahead at full speed, running as he had 
never run before. And how the absence of those 
irons gave wings to his heels! Behind him the 
uproar burst out of the jail and crashed through 
the open air. Doors began to slam open down the 
street; windows were smashed up. Other voices 
were calling here and there. 

He had never dreamed that an entire town could 
be alarmed so quickly. It seemed to him that the 
noise spelled one syllable to the town: “Dreer!” 

He whirled in at the saloon, vaulted the bars of 
the corral, and raced through the barn. His sad¬ 
dle was hanging on the very peg where he had left 


214 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


it. He reached Angelina, standing with her sleepy 
head hanging far down, and cast the creaking bur¬ 
den on her back. 

Angelina did not even raise her head; she did 
not even stir an ear. Such scenes as this were 
old indeed to her. 

Jess Dreer could have burst into song. His own 
saddle, his own horse. Angelina of all others. 
With her stubborn sides between his knees he felt 
that he could mock the world. There was only one 
thing lacking, and that was the old revolver which 
hung on the wall of the office of Sheriff Claney in 
the jail. For that matter, he had two better guns 
hanging now from his belt. 

But he would not have traded the original re¬ 
volver for a thousand of the newest. It belonged 
to him, and he felt his luck was inextricably wrapped 
up in it. For a moment, sitting in the saddle, he 
hesitated; then he determined on the venture. In¬ 
stead of cutting out of the corrals of Carrol's place 
and heading for the hills he jogged up the alley 
and swung onto the main street of Salt Springs. 
Almost instantly a volley of a dozen horses thun¬ 
dered down at him. Two of them swung off with 
a yell as he came into the road. 

“Go it, boys! I’m with you!” yelled Jess Dreer, 
and waved his hat at the diminishing line of riders. 

But now the gray dawn was growing every mo¬ 
ment, and in a short time people would be able to 
recognize him. Up the street he went at the same 
slow trot, feeling Angelina unlimber beneath him 
and begin to come up on the bit, for the unaecus- 


PURSUIT 


215 

tomed rest of the last few days had filled her full 
of running. 

Straight to the jail went Jess Dreer again. 

From a distance he could see single horsemen 
and horsemen in groups radiating from the open 
door of the sheriff like rays of light from a lantern, 
and he knew that the sheriff, the master mind, was 
directing the pursuit. Why did the sheriff himself 
abstain from taking part? Like a wise general, 
perhaps, he preferred by far to remain behind the 
lines of action and view his troops at a distance, 
measuring chances and results. 

There was a dwindling group of saddled horses 
in front of the jail, and now and again out burst a 
man, flung himself on his mount, and rushed head¬ 
long off. 

Jess Dreer reined in Angelina and waited a little 
uneasily. For now the daylight was increasing with 
every moment, and his stay in Salt Springs became 
with each second doubly perilous. But it seemed 
to him that to the very tips of his fingers his hands 
ached for the familiar touch of his old revolver. 

Still he delayed. A secondary purpose was be¬ 
ginning to form in his mind, a sort of delicate 
mental dessert, and he rolled the anticipation of it 
over the roots of his tongue, and grinned to him¬ 
self in the dim dawn. Far away, he heard the 
pursuit splashing through the hills around Salt 
Springs, voices, even gunshots. 

Yet he remained there at the center of his dan¬ 
ger until there was left, before the jail, only a single 
horse. The moment he saw this, he sent Angelina 


216 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


into full gallop with a touch of his knees. Sheriff 
Claney came and stood in the doorway. 

“Who’s there? Down to the old fort, pardner, 
and ride mighty fast! But who are you?” 

This as, instead of obeying, the new horseman 
flung himself out of the saddle. 

“An old friend,” said Jess Dreer, and thrust a 
gun under the chin of Claney. 

The sheriff stiffened, as if suddenly petrified. 

“Dreer!” he whispered. 

“Don’t beg,” said the big man. “I got a sneak¬ 
ing idea that maybe you’ll be on your knees in a 
minute, begging for your life. It gives me the 
creeps to see the yaller come out in a gent, sheriff. 
So I’ll tell you beforehand that I ain’t going to 
send a slug through you. Got two reasons for let¬ 
ting you off. First, because a shot would bring 
some callers, most like. Second, because I can do 
worse’n kill you, Claney. I can shame you so’s 
you’ll be the laughingstock of the ranges. And 
that’s what I’ll do. Now turn your back.” 

The sheriff obeyed without a word. 

“Step inside.” 

Inside went the sheriff. When the light struck 
him, one could see that he was quaking. His head 
and shoulders were sinking. Indeed, he seemed to 
be wilting away, as slugs will when salt is sprinkled 
on them. 

“I had an idea you was a skunk,” said Dreer, 
making a face as though he were swallowing a bit¬ 
ter pill. “But I didn’t know the yaller streak was 
so wide.” 

The sheriff seemed tongue-tied. Dreer took from 


PURSUIT 


217 


the wall of the room a long rope and spun it dex¬ 
terously around Claney, weaving him, hand, foot, 
and body to the neck, in a tight coil of horsehair. 

The sheriff’s own wadded handkerchief made the 
gag, and it was wedged deep into his throat. 

After this, Dreer looked around the room. It 
was in the wildest confusion. Chairs, overturned, 
lay here and there, even including the sheriff’s own 
priceless leather-seated throne. And in his mind’s 
eye the outlaw pictured the excitement when the 
yell of the first discoverer sent the guards rushing 
into the jail. 

It was perfectly quiet in Salt Springs; but a ring 
of noise rolled farther and farther away around 
it. Dreer stepped to the door, looked out, and then 
came back and poured himself a drink from the 
uncorked bottle. He found his own revolver—• 
already by the industry of the sheriff inclosed in 
a glass case with an inscription burned into the 
wood below it. 

“Taken from the celebrated desperado, Jess Dreer, 
by Sheriff Claney.” 

“The dead come back to life,” and Dreer grinned 
as he threw aside the two guns, unstrapped one 
useless holster, and slipped his ancient weapon into 
the other. 

Instantly he felt a double reliance. 

Going out, he paused by the sheriff, smiled con¬ 
temptuously into the man’s face, and seeing the eyes 
widen with fear, he turned on his heel and went out. 

He was climbing into the saddle when three men 
plunged up to the jail. 


218 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“What's orders?" they called, still from a dis¬ 
tance. 

“Down to the Six-Bar Ranch," directed Jess. 

“Are you going that way? Show us down!" 

“What’s the matter? Strangers?" 

“Yep." 

“Never seen Dreer?" 

“Just got in last night. Heard about him, but 
never seen him. What’s he look like, before we 
start ?’’ 

“I’ll tell you as we go along. I’ll be your guide, 
boys, and when I see him I’ll tell you what’s what. 
Take him all in all, he looks a good deal like me." 

“Thought he was a pile bigger." 

“Come to think of it, I reckon he is. Let’s start!" 

And the four comrades raced off into the early 
daylight. 


CHAPTER XXX 

THE RANCHER'S DECISION 

O ALT SPRINGS was quick to rise to an occa- 
*** sion. It was equally quick to settle down after 
the crisis. For a week or so every man over fifteen 
years of age rode his horse to gauntness on the 
trail of Jess Dreer and then, as though by a sud¬ 
den mutual agreement, every man returned to his 
habitual occupation. Jess Dreer, in a single day, 
was relegated to the past along with the raid of 
the Brown brothers, the fire of ten years back, and 
a few other upheavals which had wrecked the men¬ 
tal peace of Salt Springs for a fortnight. 

Indeed, though each man would have given half 
of his life to gain the honor of capturing the out¬ 
law, there was no personal bitterness to keep them 
on the trail; and as for the price on the head of 
Dreer, such money is not esteemed in the mountain 
desert. 

Yet in spite of the numbers who had ridden their 
horses to a staggering condition during the past 
ten days, no one had been so busy as Morgan Val¬ 
entine. Sheriff Caswell, seeing him come down the 
main street of the town this day, went out from 
the veranda of the hotel and stopped him. Purple 
pouches lay beneath the eyes of the rancher, and 
beside his mouth were deep grooves, and his cheeks 
were flattened. 


220 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

The sheriff remarked these things aloud, and con¬ 
cluded: ‘‘Didn’t know you’d been sick, Valentine.” 

“Not sick; busy,” said the other. He added, look¬ 
ing closely at the sheriff: “You’re staying with 
the old theory, Caswell? You’re not following 
Dreer? You’re waiting for him to travel in a circle 
and come back here?” 

The sheriff shook his head. 

“Takes nerve for a gent to change his mind,” 
and he smiled. “I’ve got nerve. After the last little 
party, Jess won’t come back to Salt Springs. His 
face is too well known.” 

“You’re taking your time about following him.” 

“I’ve been hunting around for a new hoss, and 
I’ve got a beauty at last. Look yonder.” 

He pointed to a pony chestnut with ratty mane 
and tail. 

“Don’t look particular like a picture hoss,” said 
Valentine, controlling a smile. “But they’s a nice 
set of legs and plenty of size around the girth.” 

“Yep; it ain’t a picture hoss, but it’s the nearest 
thing to Angelina that I could find. I tried him 
out a couple of days back, and he done fine.” 

He added: “But sounds like you’re set on hav¬ 
ing me catch Dreer, pardner?” 

He was surprised to find that this question did 
not bring an indignant denial from the rancher. 
The latter merely rubbed his chin thoughtfully with 
his fist. 

“Maybe I am,” he admitted openly. 

“That don’t sound nacheral, Valentine.” 

“After what he’s done for my boy, Charlie?” 

“Yep. And then, him being the sort of a gent 


THE RANCHER'S DECISION 221 

he is all around. I didn’t figure you’d be hot on 
his trail.” 

‘Til tell you,” said the rancher. “If he was 
square in the eyes of the law he’s the sort of a 
gent that I’d work my hands to the bone for. I’d 
set him up in life and ask no questions, and he 
could have what he wanted for the asking. Maybe 
you think I’m talking extravagant?” 

“I don’t. In your boots, I’d do the same things.” 

“But,” said Morgan Valentine, “the point is this: 
he’s not square in the eyes of the law, and he never 
will be. I have wires through which I can reach 
some of the political heads, and I’ve been working 
night and day at two governors, sheriff. I’ve been 
trying to get them to call off the dogs and let this 
man live his life without being forced into harm 
to himself and the rest of the world. But they 
won’t do it. In fact, they know what Jess Dreer 
is. He has a character that makes good talking, 
and eve'ry one of ’em knows that Jess would go 
straight if he had the chance—and that he never 
would have gone wrong if it hadn’t been that he 
fell into a bad hole with no way out except by 
breaking the law.” 

“That’s what I’ve told a thousand people, most 
like.” 

“Well, they know all these things as well as you 
and I do. But Dreer is too big a gun. He’s too 
notorious. Here and there and the other place 
he’s shot up the second son of some rich family. 
Or he’s made a fool out of some .sheriff who’s 
strong in politics. I’m not hitting at you, Caswell.” 


222 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“It’s all right if you are. I’d rather be made a 
fool of by Dreer than praised by most men.” 

“The end of the story is that the governor who 
pardoned Dreer would be ruined in politics. He’d 
have a host of enemies, and most like he’d be 
accused of having taken a bribe. They’ll hear 
reason. They’d even be glad to have Dreer taken 
in some State outside of their own. But when it 
comes to a pardon, they won’t hear of it. I’ve 
tried ’em all.” 

“You look worked out, Valentine; they ain’t any 
doubt of that.” 

“Yes. Because I’ve worked harder for him than 
I would have worked for myself. But he can’t 
be saved. And besides-” 

He stopped. 

Now Sheriff Caswell was by no means an old 
acquaintance of the rancher, but he knew him well 
enough to understand that Valentine was not a man 
of many words. For that reason this sudden out¬ 
burst of talk surprised him, made him suspicious. 
After the first moment he had begun to wait for 
some unusual climax to the* talk, and now he said 
frankly: “Valentine, what is it?” 

“I’m talking pretty free,” said the other. 

“You’re talking free to a man that keeps things 
to himself.” 

“Well, it’s this: If I can’t save Dreer I’m going 
to ruin him.” 

The blow had fallen, but though the sheriff was 
prepared to be startled, he was nevertheless aghast 
at this revelation. 

“That’s free talk, and it’s queer talk,” he said 



THE RANCHER’S DECISION 223 

slowly. “I’m a sheriff and my chief job is to get 
Dreer. But I sort of think that I’d rather you 
hadn’t said that, Valentine.” 

“Do I sound like an ungrateful hound, sheriff?” 

The latter shook his head. 

“A gent like you has reasons for what he does. 
They ain’t any yaller streak in you. But maybe 
some of your reasons is wrong, Valentine. And 
why do you tell me all this? What’s behind it?” 

“Because I can’t very well touch Dreer with my 
own hand.” 

“I’ll tell a man!” 

“And I have to use some one else.” 

“That’s clear.” 

“And you, sheriff, are the man!” 

Once more the sheriff gasped. 

Then: “Go on, Valentine. This sounds like 

a fairy tale.” 

“Walk on down the street with me. I get nerv¬ 
ous, standing still. First, tell me your plans about 
Dreer.” 

As they sauntered along Caswell outlined his 
theory briefly. Dreer had headed north, in spite 
of the fact that other people were sure he was 
then riding south. He was heading north into a 
fresh country where his face was still unknown. 
He would travel slowly, not anxious to cover a 
great distance, for a man traveling too fast would 
be sure to excite suspicion. He might even stop 
here and there and work a few days. Such were 
the habits of Jess Dreer when he was on the road. 
Caswell intended to follow alone, weaving across 
the country loosely, like the line of a lariat tossed 


224 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


carelessly on the ground, until he found some traces 
of a tall man with exceptional arms, wide shoul¬ 
ders, and a long, lean face. 

“Once seen, Dreer is never forgotten. And that's 
why I'll get him in the end—unless he gets me." 

The rancher waited until he was through and 
then said: “Caswell, you're wrong. Your first 
theory was right. Dreer will come back." 

He explained: “Out at my house my niece, Mary 
Valentine, is a changed girl. She doesn't go out 
to parties. She doesn’t play around the house with 
the boys. When she's inside she sits by herself 
with her hands in her lap, very grave. When she 
goes out she rides alone." 

“She's grieving for Dreer, Valentine." 

“I know that. She gave up the trip East. When 
I pressed her she said that rather than go she’d 
open up her father’s house and live by herself, if 
I didn't want her. 

“I was telling you that she spends a good deal 
of time out by herself on her horse. I thought at 
first that she was out to meet Dreer, who might 
be in hiding somewhere in the hills. So I had her 
trailed a few times. But she never met anybody. 
She’d get to the top of a high crest and sit her 
horse without budging for an hour. Always look¬ 
ing one way." 

“North?" 

“North," the rancher nodded, surprised by this 
interruption. 

“I knew it." 

“She acts, Caswell, like a half-breed wolf you’ve 
tried to raise as a dog. Tame while they’re young. 


THE RANCHER’S DECISION 


225 


but some spring when they begin to rove around 
at night and stay away from the other dogs. And 
then one day they’re gone, and you find a fine calf 
or two with its throat cut. You know what I 
mean ?” 

“That she’s going to cut loose and go after 
Dreer?” 

“That, or he’ll come back to her. The two of 
’em are a good deal alike in ways. The way one 
acts tells you what’s going on in the other. Why, 
the girl is as silent as though her mind were a hun¬ 
dred miles away.” 

He grew excited, but graver than ever, and his 
face, as he talked, withered into the face ol an old 
man. 

“She’s got to be stopped, Caswell, and you’re the 
man who must do it. You have the hand of the 
law. I tell you, if the girl were mine—I don’t know 
•—I might let her follow her own nature. But she’s 
not mine. She was given to me as a trust, and 
I’ll give her a chance at happiness in spite of her¬ 
self. There’s the spirit of her father in her, Cas¬ 
well. He was a man of whims and impulses. His 
first thought was bis last thought. I was the only 
living human being who could change him. 

“But nothing on earth can change the girl. She’s 
like fire when she sets her mind on a thing.” 

They walked on again through a moment of 
silence. Both of them were thinking hard. 

“I’ll tell you,” said Caswell. “They may be fate 
behind all this. I ain’t seen much of that girl, 
pardner, but what I’ve seen I’ve liked. Just the 
way I like a hoss that may of throwed a dozen 


226 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


men. Along comes the right gent, and when he 
can ride that hoss he’s got something to keep for 
life. Now, look at the way that girl’s flirted around. 
They ain’t anything else to call it. They say she’s 
made eyes at everything that wears pants inside of 
fifty miles and fifty years. One hour—she’s tired 
of that gent and throws him for another. And she 
keeps right on. Then along comes Jess Dreer. She 
sees him—more’n half an hour. But she’s still 
interested. After a while he’s gone, and she sits 
down and mourns for him. Or else she goes out 
on her hoss and waits to see if Jess won’t come 
sloping over the hills. Valentine, if I wasn’t so 
old, that’d put a tear in my eye!” 

But the face of the rancher was set 

“Fate or no fate,” he said, “it can’t happen. Go 
to a man like Dreer—lead the life of a wolf— 
hunted. No home—no children—my brother’d rise 
out of the grave, friend! Caswell, it’s between 
Mary and Dreer, and Dreer has to go down. I’ll 
strike him with you, if I can. If you fail, I’ll try 
my own hand. But if she sees the man once more, 
it’s fatal. Nothing’ll hold ’em!” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE FEUD 

DETWEEN the dusk and the dark of this night 
a lone horseman halted on a cattle path which 
led to low lands, and in the midst of the hollow 
was a broad, low barn. Even by that uncertain 
light the traveler could see that one end of the 
structure had fallen in. He shook out a white 
strip of cloth which he had kept in his pocket 
until this time, he tied the rag around his left 
arm close to the shoulder, peered about him as 
though he feared this simple action might have 
been seen, and rode his horse to the barn. 

It was a gingerly progress. Coming a little closer 
he saw that a faint light was burning in the barn. 
It made the structure seem huger than before and 
vastly more ruinous. At this discovery he checked 
his horse completely and studied the place. 

At length, as though summoning his resolution, 
he pulled his sombrero so low that it quite covered 
the upper part of his face and raised the flap of 
his neckerchief so that it equally concealed his mouth 
and chin. This done, he pushed on briskly. 

Not until he had dismounted before the great 
door of the barn did his former diffidence return. 
He slipped to the door and pressed his ear against 
a crack, but he could hear nothing. 

Finally he knocked in a peculiar manner. Twice 
close together, a pause, and then three short raps. 


228 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


With this, the bi g door was seen to move slowly, 
a voice said softly from within: “Who’s there in 
need ?” 

The first man started. 

“A friend in need,” he said in a low and hur¬ 
ried voice. 

“And your name?” 

“Gus Norman.” 

“Come in. And bring the hoss.” 

He now pushed the door wide open, so that Gus 
Norman could see, far in the interior of the huge, 
empty mow of the building, a scattered group of 
men and their horses around a single lantern. 

Gus Norman went in, leading his horse, and 
looked sharply at the doorman. The latter was 
similarly disguised by means of a lowered hat and 
raised neckcloth, but now he lifted his hat for an 
instant. 

“Sam!” said Gus Norman. Then: “What’s up?” 

But the doorman made a gesture commanding 
silence and Gus went on toward the group. 

They were equipped, like him, each with mask¬ 
like neckcloth and each with the strip of white doth 
around the left arm, close to the shoulder. None 
of them seemed eager to stand close to the lantern, 
but each had drawn back beside his horse so that 
he was wrapped in the shadows as with a cloak. 
There was a general turning of heads toward the 
newcomer, but no one spoke. And Gus Norman 
seemed as undesirous of having the others know 
his face as he was eager to learn their own. He 
paused at a considerable distance from the lantern 
and leaned silently against the shoulder of his horse. 


THE FEUD 


229 


There were twenty men present, so far as he 
could count, and each was armed to the teeth. Now 
and then one of them spoke softly to a restive horse, 
but these deep murmurs only accentuated the com¬ 
mon silence. 

Presently, after an intermission of some five or 
ten minutes, another horseman advanced from the 
door, leading his mount, and this time the doorman, 
Sam Norman, came with the last arrival. He went 
gravely to the middle of the empty space from 
which the lantern light had driven the others, and 
he looked from side to side. 

“I’ve counted as you come in,” he said, “and 
they’s no one left out. Every Norman that’s old 
enough to carry a gun and shoot from a hoss is 
here.” He kept his voice so low that there was a 
general cautious approach from all sides to hear 
him. “Now,” he said, “Pve done my duty. I’ve 
kept the door that I was called on to keep, and 
him that’s to speak next, according to custom, let 
him step out—the man that called this meeting of 
the family.” 

He waited, turning slowly from side to side, but 
no one stirred.” 

Finally a voice called guarded from the rear 
circle: “The leader can’t speak till the roll is called. 
Call the roll, doorman.” 

“Right,” and Sam Norman nodded. He closed 
his eyes, as if to summon the list into his mind, 
and then began calling the names—first names only. 
One by one there was a deep murmur of: “Here!” 
from the listeners. 

When this was finished, the doorman paused 


230 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


again and looked expectantly about, but still no one 
spoke or moved. 

“Brothers,” said Sam Norman, “him that called 
this meeting has got to stand out. Fifteen years 
has gone since the last meeting was called by these 
signs, and they’s some here that knows the signs 
but never seen a meeting before. And I’ve been 
hoping that they would never come such a meeting 
as long as I lived. Him that called us, let him talk 
now.” 

Still only the heavy silence prevailed. There was 
a restless movement, then a murmur through the 
circle. 

“Some one may of known the signs and called 
us for a joke.” 

“Brother,” said the doorman sternly, “him that 
made that joke’ll never make another. Still, him 
that called the meeting is wrong, because the law 
stands that they was never to be another called until 
a Norman was killed by wrong. That law was 
made while we was still living in Kentucky—before 
some of you was born. And they ain’t any Nor¬ 
man been killed by numbers or by wrong since we 
come to the West. Remembering all that, let him 
that called the meeting stand out and say why he 
called it.” 

So intently had the circle attended these words 
that no one noticed, near the beginning of the speech, 
that the big door of the barn had been softly 
opened, and another member had come in. But 
now this stranger approached, leading a horse. The 
figure was in every respect like those of the others, 


THE FEUD 


231 


but there was a general murmur, a general move¬ 
ment of weapons at its approach. 

Sam Norman went farther than the rest. He 
whipped out a revolver and went a few steps to 
meet the newcomer. 

“Who’s there?” he called. 

“A friend in need,” answered the other faintly. 

“Halt, friend. The number’s been counted, and 
it’s full up, and every face has been seen by me. 
Halt, I say!” 

For the other, abandoning the horse, had refused 
to halt and had come straight on—a slender, short 
figure of boyish outline, and now, in the immediate 
circle of the lantern light, the hat was snatched off 
and hair tumbled across the shoulders of a girl. 
The neckerchief was lowered, and the circle found 
itself looking into the face of May Norman. Her 
father uttered an exclamation of dismay. 

“That law,” said the girl, “was spoke wrong. 
The meeting can be called for any Norman that’s 
killed by wrong. And it can be called for any 
man that dies for the Normans. And that’s why 
this meeting is here. That’s why the signs was 
sent. They’s a man dead, brothers!” 

She was a pale, round-faced girl, all her features 
diminutive except the mouth and chin. Her tone 
was a disagreeably harsh nasal. Neither in voice 
nor in face was she attractive, but there was an 
air of such dignity about her, and the raising of 
her hand was so solemn, that for a moment no 
one replied. 

Then, from her father: “What man is dead?” 

“What man is dead?” she cried, turning fiercely 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


232 

on him. “D’you stand there and ask me that ? 
Well, speak up, Gus Norman. You tell ’em what 
man is dead that died for us!” 

Gus Norman stirred, advanced a step, then shook 
his head. 

At that she cried out: “It’s Jud Boone that’s 
dead fighting for our cause. I was the price that 
bought him to fight for us. You know that, dad. 
The rest of you know it. He fought and died, 
and I seen him put in the ground. I waited while 
you was trailing him, but when I seen you all stop 
the trail, I called this meeting. It’s my right, be¬ 
cause I’m the one that was most hurt by a killing. 
Now I call for the law of the family to help me!” 

She swayed th^n with her vehemence. 

Yet her own father said: “He died, but he was 
killed in a fair fight.” 

“Does that change it?” she answered hotly. “If 
he was one O'f us and fought his own fight it would 
be different. But he wasn’t one of us. He fought 
our fight. Where was you-all when a man was 
wanted to face Charlie Valentine? You wasn’t 
home. You was away. They wasn’t nobody would 
do it. Then you went out and got a better man 
than you—you got Jud Boone. And Jud come and 
fought your fight and done what was asked of him 
—and now he’s dead. He’s dead! And I’m here 
calling to you, and saying I want a death for a 
death!” 

Her shrill voice filled the great spaces of the barn. 

And in the pause, while the echo whispered back 
from distant recesses, she added: “I want Jess 
Dreer!” 


THE FEUD 


233 


Every man stood with his head bowed, thoughtful. 
At length Gus Norman came forward and stood 
beside the girl. 

“She’s right,” he said gloomily, turning his hairy, 
wolfish face from man to man. “It means a feud, 
maybe. And maybe it don’t. Dreer is an outlaw. 
We got a right to hunt him. And May is right. 
Come in, brothers. We need your heads, all of 
’em. Step in and show your faces. This ain’t 
work that’ll be done to-night, but the plans for it 
has got to be laid. Sam, you’re the doorman. Take 
charge.” 

Without a word the circle closed. And the hats 
were raised, the neckerchief flaps lowered from 
mouth and chin. Many a time in the past there 
had been gatherings such as these in the hills of 
Kentucky—the same dark, lean faces, the same 
bright eyes and savage mouths. The tie of blood 
was law to them—a deathless fealty to one another, 
a suspicion of all strangers. 

Each, as he came into the circle of the lantern 
light, took the hand of May Norman and spoke 
the solemn formula: “Your cause is my cause; my 
hand is your hand.” 

And the younger men spoke the phrase eagerly. 
Something they had learned and spoken in whispers 
before. But all the older men, who had one time 
spoken the phrase aloud were grave and down¬ 
hearted. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


CLOSING IN 

OHERIFF CLANEY had one virtue worth ten 
^ ordinary qualities. This virtue was that he 
hated his enemies with a truly Old Testament viru¬ 
lence. Personal hatred, indeed, for another man, 
had been the reason that he first sought election 
as sheriff. And once in office he had very cleverly 
so arranged it that his personal enemy was found 
to be an offender of the law. Whereupon an arrest 
was made, resisted, and the sheriff in the exercise 
•of his legal functions had shot the other squarely 
between the eyes and washed his hands of the 
old grievance. 

For the sheriff improved on the word of the 
Scripture. Instead of tooth for tooth he was apt 
to extract two. But Claney loved his labors and 
loved his office. He loved to watch the face of 
a man upon whose shoulder the heavy hand of 
the law had fallen. Whether the fellow were de¬ 
fiant, sullen, pitiful, venomous, or despairing, the 
sheriff found a part of his palate which could relish 
any and all of these moods. 

So he had been continued in his office. He 
was known to be fairly courageous; very deft with 
a gun and very free in the use of it; and indefatig¬ 
able in the pursuit of his duties. Never before 
had Salt Springs enjoyed the ministrations of a 
man who seemed in love with his work. 


CLOSING IN 


235 


He was elected; he was reelected. The men of 
Salt Springs were fond of showing off the in¬ 
dustry of their sheriff compared with the sheriffs 
of neighboring counties. 

But all this changed. 

It was not that a prisoner had escaped. Not 
at all. Salt Springs was even rather glad that Jess 
Dreer was not to hang. But Salt Springs saw itself 
in the role of a town that has talked too soon and 
boasted too often. The invincible jail of which 
they had so often vaunted had been treated as a 
mule would treat a paper barn. Holes had been 
kicked in it, locks had been magically opened, and 
a man under special guard had been whisked away 
from beneath the noses of the sawed-off shotguns. 

From the first this thing was not pleasant. It 
became more distinctly annoying when men from 
neighboring villages drifted in in the course of the 
next few days and dropped random remarks, such 
as offers of a loan so that Salt Springs could build 
a really effective jail; and offers of the loan of a 
man who would make a real sheriff. 

This was putting the burr under the saddle, and 
Salt Springs began to buck. Every time it came 
down out of the air with bunched feet and humped 
back, it jolted on the thought of Sheriff Claney, 
the man who had been tied hand and foot by a 
prisoner and turned into a joke. Moreover, other 
murmurs were added to the rising tide. Men who 
had been wrongfully accused of various crimes came 
out with dark testimonies of the third degree harshly 
applied by the sheriff. 

In fact, things reached such a point that in Car- 


236 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


rol’s saloon a man in the heat of liquor suggested 
that they tie the feet of the sheriff under the belly 
of a bucking horse and send him out to explore 
regions unknown. Others advocated a ride upon 
a rail to give him a new start in life. But though 
these proposals never got past the stage of talk, one 
and all agreed that strangers in Salt Springs would 
never lack subject of conversation as long as 
Sheriff Claney was in office. 

And to make matters worse, his new term was 
but newly begun! 

Friends called on the sheriff and suggested that 
he resign and go elsewhere to places where his un¬ 
doubted talents could be employed and appreciated. 
But they did not know the sheriff. It was not 
that he wished to restore the affection of Salt 
Springs. He hated and despised them all, but he 
wanted to teach them to fear him again. He knew 
they were laughing at him and writhing because 
strangers joined in the mirth. It was dust and 
ashes upon the head of Claney. 

Every day be bowed his heart in prayer that some 
gigantic crime would wipe out nine tenths of Salt 
Springs so that he could demonstrate his efficiency 
to the remaining one tenth. His dreams at night 
were filled with prodigies of shooting, and he walked 
the streets of the town hounding every man he met 
with a hungry eye that dared the other to smile. 

And no one smiled. A man who is drunk is 
dangerous; a man who is justly enraged will keep 
a whole town indoors; but a man who has been 
shamed is a devil incarnate. 

So he remained in Salt Springs, tormented by 


CLOSING IN 


237 

a dearth of crime, and burned away to a shadow 
by his shame and his hate. 

Gus Norman, entering the office in the jail one 
day, found Claney sitting bowed at his desk with 
his head buried on his arms and his fingers sunk 
in his hair. 

Gus Norman was not a fool. 

He retreated on tiptoe, and when he came again, 
he was whistling discordantly, but in great volume. 
This time he found the sheriff seated with hair 
neatly smoothed, rolling a cigarette. He finished 
licking and lighting the cigarette before he spoke. 
He wanted to know just what brought a man, that 
ought to be honest, to the jail. 

It was not a diplomatic opening to a prominent 
citizen, but the sheriff was far past diplomacy. 

“I’ve come,” said Gus Norman, “about something 
that’s partly my business and partly yours.” 

“You’re one of the thickheads that wants a new 
jail, eh?” 

Gus Norman set his teeth and his bushy face 
was like a cartoon of the devil—one of those 
child-book pictures. “I want a man in the jail, 
not a new jail,” he said. 

The sheriff snapped his cigarette across the room. 
It struck the wall in a shower of fire that was 
dead before the ashes fluttered to the floor. He 
leaned across his desk. 

“They’s something doing? You got something 
on somebody?” he whispered. 

Even, Gus Norman was a little daunted by such 
ghoulish eagerness. 


238 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“It’s something you already know. Jess Dreer.” 

The sheriff turned white. 

“Go on,” he said faintly. 

“I think I got a line on him.” 

At this, Claney literally leaped to his feet. 

“Norman, have a drink—no, talk—no, drink, 
and then you’ll talk better!” 

But the rancher was methodical. He wanted to 
show all his strength. 

“First,” he said, “I got twenty men who’ll pack 
a gun in a posse that goes after Jess Dreer.” 

“Get to the point, man—where’s Dreer?” 

“Go easy, sheriff, go easy. You ain’t the first 
that’s tried to hunt down Dreer with a public posse 
that everybody knows about. You ain’t the first, 
and all the rest have failed. Why? Because every 
one of ’em worked in the open. And Dreer has 
friends who let him know when the law is on his 
heels. He’s got a lot of friends. He’s got friends 
in this here town!” 

“D’you think I’m fool enough not to know that? 
Some day I’ll get the hound that gave Dreer the 
watch spring, and I’ll rope him to a tree. But— 
go on!” 

In an ecstasy of impatience he dashed himself 
back into his chair and thrust his nervous hands 
into his pockets. 

“You found a watch spring?” asked the curious 
cattleman. 

“Yes—but go on!” 

“My point is, that what you need is a gang that’ll 
work secret. When we get Dreer spotted, they’ll 


CLOSING IN 239 

slip out of town one by one and collect wherever 
you say.” 

“1 know that, don’t I? But men who have to 
be paid publicly have to be hired publicly. How 
can I work a secret posse?” 

“You don’t have to work it. I’ve worked it for 
you. And the gang don’t have to be hired. They’ll 
pay their way.” 

The sheriff stared. 

“What’s more, when you nail this gent, sheriff, 
we don’t want none of the price that’s on his head. 
You get it all.” 

The sheriff was not mercenary exactly, but this 
generosity made him gasp. 

“What do you and your men get?” 

“I’ll tell you. We get the fun.” 

And there was such a collected, cold malevolence 
in his voice that even Sheriff Claney was moved. 

“Norman,” he said at length, “they’s a lot more 
to you than I guess I’ve seen before. Now we’ll 
get our heads together and talk business.” 

“Not yet,” replied the cattleman. 

He left the office and went to his horse. He re¬ 
turned carrying a small, canvas sack, black with oil 
stains. He tossed this on the desk, and the desk 
shook under the impact. 

“That’s dust, sheriff. They’s about five thou¬ 
sand dollars in that sack.” 

By this time the sheriff was worked up to a 
high point of excitement. He touched the sack 
gingerly and snatched his fingers back as though 
they had been burned. 

“Five thousand dollars!” he murmured, and his 


240 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


eyes went from the sack to the stolid face of Gus 
Norman. “Go on!” he ordered abruptly. 

“That money is yours to use to get Jess Dreer. 
Me and my men have raised it. It didn't come easy. 
Nobody give us that coin for the asking. We earned 
it, and we dug into money that we got with sweat 
to give it to the cause.” 

He squinted his eyes, recalling the long delibera¬ 
tion at the meeting before the money had been 
raised. 

“I don't quite foller you,” murmured the sheriff, 
now quite humble. “I don't just see why we need 
this much money if your boys will work without 
hire.” 

“I’m coming to that, slow and sure. First, our 
line on Dreer.” 

“Yes, that's first!” 

“You know on the day of the shooting of Jud 
Boone we tried to keep Dreer away from the 
saloon ?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know that somehow he slipped through 
us?” 

“Yes?” 

“The fact was, sheriff, that he was living right 
there in the saloon all the time.” 

“Then Carrol was in cahoots with him? What 
a fool I’ve been not to think of that!” 

“We all was fools,” said Gus Norman, showing 
his yellow teeth at the thought. “But here’s the 
point: Carrol kept him while he was in Salt Springs. 
Maybe Carrol knows where he is now? They ain't 
any doubt of it to my mind. He travels free and 


CLOSING IN 


241 


easy up and down the ranges. They must be a 
reason for it. They’s places where he makes his 
money Outside of what he steals. Carrol’s is one 
of them. They’re friends. Carrol knows where 
he is, and all we’ve got to do is to make Carrol 
talk.” 

‘Til get him here and use some little tricks I 
know,” said the sheriff ominously. 

“Lemme talk,” said Norman. “He won’t be an 
easy gent to persuade. But they’s a way, sheriff. 
Fye figured it out. Carrol has a price.” 

“How d’you know that? His place makes a pile 
of money.” 

“But he puts it back in the game. Can’t keep 
way from the cards. Right lately somebody’s taken 
a pile of money from him. I know, because he 
borrowed money from me. He’s near broke, right 
now. And I’ve figured up that his price is just 
what you’ve got in that sack now. Sheriff, I’d go 
and talk to him myself, but he’s a hard man. I 
wouldn’t have a chance to get talking. It’ll be a 
pile different with you. He’ll have to listen. You’ll 
find out what you want to know, and after you 
find it out you’ll have me and my gang to work 
on the trail. Good-by.” 

And without waiting for a word of reply he rose 
and left the office. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


BRIBED 

OUPPOSE one were to lead a starved beggar to 
^ a loaded banquet table and then give him ten 
dollars to persuade him to sit down. The mood of 
Sheriff Claney as he stared at the canvas sack was 
the mood of the beggar. He had his first clew 
to the whereabouts of a criminal whose apprehen¬ 
sion would not only restore his vanished prestige, 
but would even raise him up on a higher pedestal 
than before. To try and fail is human; to try 
again and then succeed is glory. 

Sheriff Claney felt that his lean strong hand 
was extending toward the green wreath. 

This time there would be no question of escape. 
If he came in range of the outlaw again it would 
be a matter of lead and powder and buzzard food 
left behind. Dead, he was worth as much as he 
was worth alive. 

But in addition to all this, to have a sack of 
five thousand dollars added for his personal use! 
He rubbed his hands; for the first time since the 
jail break the heart of the sheriff was warmed. 

But as for going to the saloon keeper and gambler 
and thrusting the five thousand into his hands, 
this was not at all to the liking of the sheriff. He 
had another idea which was fully as good. As long 
as the correct information were exacted from Carrol 
there was no good reason why the money should not 


BRIBED 


243 

remain in hands which would use it to far better 
advantage. 

He went straight to the saloon with the gold 
in a valise. 

“What’s in it?” was the gambler’s first ques¬ 
tion. 

“Something I can’t get here. Good booze.” 

The quip did not please Carrol. But he regarded 
the sheriff with a calm eye. If Claney had known 
parts of the gambler’s past—certain parts which 
Jess Dreer, for instance, could have told him— 
he would have put a gun to his head before he 
would have taunted such a man. 

But he ran on: “I’ve come on an unpleasant 
errand to-day, Carrol.” 

“Mostly you don’t come on on other kind of 
errands. What’s on your mind?” 

“To put it to you straight; your games are on 
my mind.” 

“My games are straight.” 

“Of course you’ve got to say that.” 

“It’s true, sheriff.” 

“I been hearing stories. Lemme see. There 
was a gent that blew through town—little quat, 
fat, half-breed sort he was. Said you was working 
something that looked like a brake on your wheel. 
What about it ?” 

The gambler flushed. 

“I had a fool working for me—that was six 
months ago. He come to me and showed me how 
he could fix up the wheel so it would make a pile 
of money for me. I told him I wasn’t running that 
sort of a game. He thought I was kidding. I told 


244 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


him straight. But I took him on and give him 
a job; he was busted. 

“Well, he was a snake. He knew how much 

Ld been used to making on the wheel. He fixes 

up a brake on the wheel, and of course he busts 
the boys for a great big percentage. He gives 
me what the house used to make right along, and 

he sneaks the rest of it into his pocket. In about 

a week I went over and watched the wheel one 
day. Seemed to me it was running queer. That 
night I looked it over and found the brake. 

“I called in Tommy, gave him the licking of his 
life and a hundred dollars for luck, and sent him 
on his way. 

“That’s the only crooked thing that they’s ever 
been about my house. I would of paid back the 
boys that lost their money. But how could I find 
’em? And if they knew I was paying, would they 
of told me just how much they lost? No, they 
was nothing I could do. Besides, I didn’t get the 
coin. It was the thief that done that. So there 
you are, sheriff, and that’s the truth.” 

There was no escaping from the sincerity of the 
man. 

“It’s the first time that I’ve ever been even ques¬ 
tioned,” he said gloomily. 

“That’s the point,” said the sheriff hastily. “You 
been going on so long that some of the boys are 
kind of suspicious.” 

At this Carrol rose from his chair. 

“Look here,” he said quietly, “what are you here 
for, trouble?” 

“Sit down, Danny. Sit down. I’m a reason- 


BRIBED 


245 


able man, and I got your interests at heart. You’ll 
see that I have in a minute. Right off, I’m going to 
tell you that what some folks is kind of riled 
about. They don’t like the sort of gents that you 
bring in and put up at your rooms, Danny.” 

“My friends is my friends,” declared the saloon 
keeper grimly, “and if you and the rest of the 
town don’t like ’em, you and the rest of the town 
can go to the devil. That’s straight!” 

“Is that fishing for trouble?” said the sheriff 
coldly. 

“You know it ain’t—but you can take it any way 
you want. Name some of the gents that ain’t been 
liked?” 

“Jess Dreer!” 

It shook Dan Carrol to his feet. Coming so 
smoothly, so unexpectedly, it was utterly impossible 
for him to control his expression, and his staring 
eyes had in a moment admitted everything. 

He saw at once that he was exposed. The sheriff 
had tilted himself back in his chair and was grin¬ 
ning complacently at the other. 

“It’s a lie,” was all he could say, more angrily 
than effectively. 

“Hush up, Danny. You done it smooth, all right, 
and I wouldn’t never have guessed it if it hadn’t 
been for one thing—Dreer himself.” 

“Jess done that?” muttered the saloon keeper. 
“He told?” t 

“I put him through the third degree, Danny, and 
he busted down and told.” 

Slowly, as though the strength were gradually 


246 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

melting from his legs, Danny Carrol sank into the 
chair. 

‘‘He done that!” was all he could murmur. 

And he stared at the floor. 

“But I didn’t want to ride you about it,” went 
on the sheriff smoothly. “I’ll tell you why: I 
like you, Carrol. You look square to me, and I 
didn’t see no good in making trouble for you for 
shielding an outlaw.” 

He paused to let the words soak in, then went 
on: “But now things are different. Dreer is gone 
from jail; I’ve got to find him; and I come to you 
and say: ‘Dan Carrol, you know where Tess Dreer is. 
Tell me!” 

As he spoke the last words he leaned over and 
thrust his fingers under the nose of the other. Dan 
Carrol raised his eyes slowly from the floor. 

“Sheriff,” he said, “I dunno. But—if Jess is a 
hound then I’m worse’n a hound. And no matter 
what he’s done to me, I still got to stand behind him. 
And if I knew where he was to-day, you couldn’t 
drag it out of me.” 

“Carrol, go easy. I could bust you. It’d be a 
black case agin’ you. First, a charge of using a 
brake on the wheel.” 

“Would you scrape that up?” 

“Business is business. First the brake. Then this 
shielding of an outlaw.” 

“You can’t prove it.” 

“I’ll swear you’ve admitted it. Besides, I can 
prove anything on a gambler and saloon keeper. 
You ain’t got a chance.” 


BRIBED 


247 

Perspiration broke out on the forehead of Carrol, 
but he shook his head stubbornly. 

“Me and Jess has been pals. Go ahead with your 
dirty work. I won’t blab on him. Besides—I’m 
tired of talk, sheriff. I need a drink.” 

“So do I,” admitted the sheriff. “But I’m not 
through.” 

Carrol sighed and settled again into his chair. 
The strain had been great, and he was weary. 

“They’s one other thing I want to bring up in 
your mind, Danny. If you lose this place you lose 
a lot. You wasn’t no church-attending saint a few 
years back. But you reformed. You settled down. 
You played square. You got a place for yourself in 
Salt Springs and people trust you. You’re willing 
to risk all that in order to shield Dreer. I’ll tell you 
why. It’s because you’ve had some bad luck Danny, 
and you’ve blowed so much coin that now you ain’t 
got any more than a finger-nail grip on your saloon.” 

Inspiration struck across the mind of the sheriff. 

“Carrol, who brought yo-ui the bad luck? Who 
busted you, mighty near? It was Dreer playing with 
you every night!” 

And the gambler nodded gloomily. 

“Now listen to me, pardner. Will you talk 
turkey ?” 

“Not in a thousand years, sheriff; I’m busted, 
anyways.” 

The sheriff paused. He had worked hard to 
save that money for himself; but Dreer meant 
more than money to him. 

He pointed to the satchel. 

“Pick that up.” 


248 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


The gambler obeyed. 

“It's dust. Five thousand. Carrol, that coin 
belongs to you—if you talk!” 

The big hand of the other tightened on the grip 
of the satchel. 

“He’s north,” he said huskily. “Windville.” 

Then realization of what he had done rushed 
on him. He hurled the bribe to the floor. 

“You< skunk,” he cried. “Take the coin. I don’t 
want it. Besides, I told you wrong. He ain’t in 
a thousand miles of Windville!” 

But the sheriff stood at the door smiling. 

“Keep the money, Danny, and I’ll keep my word. 
So long.” 

He was gone, and Dan Carrol dropped into a 
chair. 

“Jess,” he whispered. “It kind of busted out. 
I couldn’t help it. Forgive me!” 


CHAPTER XXXIV] 


THE SPY 

DUT the retirement of Sheriff Claney was purely 
a feint. He understood perfectly that if he 
had remained another moment in the room he 
would have had the money hurled at his head 
with a bullet behind it perhaps. He knew, also, 
that temptation is like whisky. It needs time to 
work. It goes down raw and makes one shudder 
with repulsion at first taste. Afterward, a glow 
runs through the body and fire mounts to the head. 
The world is seen awry. 

In other words, the sheriff waited until the 
gambler had had time to estimate the value of 
that gold; he waited until Carrol, having finished 
the count, would have made up his mind to retain 
the satchel and its contents, for the sheriff was 
sure that once the man had actually fingered the 
contents he could never let them go. 

In exactly one hour the sheriff returned, and at 
a single glance he knew that his purpose was ac¬ 
complished. The glance of Dan Carrol was no 
longer straight and solemn. It flicked here and 
there, and there was a glitter in his eyes that pleased 
the sheriff enormously. Dan Carrol had no word 
to greet Claney. But the latter had seen at once 
that the satchel had been removed; it was locked 
in the gambler's safe. It was also locked in his 
heart. He had estimated the sum. He had counted 


250 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


it. It was already a part of his life. Before the 
sheriff he backed into a corner and stood there 
like a savage animal, able to tear its keeper to 
shreds but held in awe of the trainer’s whip. 

This simile occurred to Sheriff Claney and made 
him smile. He enjoyed such scenes as this. Just 
as a chemist loves to watch some sturdy amalgam 
melt under the touch of an acid, so the sheriff 
looked through the eyes of Carrol and saw the 
disintegration of his soul and his honor. 

After the opening pause the sheriff laid his 
cards frankly upon the table. He talked in a 
very businesslike manner. Not as one who is open¬ 
ing a proposition, but rather as one who has already 
reached an agreement and is now merely giving 
the details a final summing up. He told Carrol 
what was wanted of him, not persuasively, but as 
if a refusal would have astonished him too much 
for words. He counted off his points on the tips 
of his fingers, and he kept looking at his hands 
instead of at Carrol’s face; for he knew that if he 
did the latter, shame might undo all that he had ac¬ 
complished with talk, threats, money. 

After all, it was settled very briefly; one hour 
later Claney went back to his office in the jail and 
sent for Gus Norman. The latter came at once 
and was met with this question: “Can you give me 
a man with an eye in his head and a tongue he 
can keep from wagging too much?” 

“Open up,” demanded Gus Norman. “Then Til 
tell you.” 

“I will. Here’s the way it stands. I’m not going 
to tackle Jess Dreer in Windville.” 


THE SPY 


251 


“That’s where he is?” 

“It is. And I know the hotel he’s living in—I 
guess they ain’t more than one hotel there, for that 
matter. But I don’t want to tackle Dreer in a town 
where he’s known and where they’s mostly his 
friends. I want to get him off by himself. Then I’ll 
gather him in.” 

“That takes time.” 

“And I got the time to put in on it. I understand 
he’s fixed fine in Windville and won’t be apt to leave 
for a long time. Windville is so far in the hills that 
it don’t hear nothing about what goes on in other 
places. It ain’t ever heard of Dreer, maybe. Any¬ 
way, he’s showing himself open up there, and every¬ 
body’s for him. That’s what Carrol says. First I 
want to send up a man and make sure he’s there, and 
then give Dreer a letter.” 

“To tell him you’re coming?” asked Gus Norman 
dryly: 

“It’s a letter from Dan Carrol,” said the sheriff. 

Gus Norman gaped; and then the two grinned in 
silent enjoyment. 

“My boy Joe is the one for you. He’s just up 
and around. And I guess he ain’t got any reason 
for loving the Valentines and them that stand in 
with the Valentines. I’ll bring Joe to you. Besides, 
riding is his long suit.” 

And Joe Norman was brought. 

He was a very short distance into his twenties; a 
dark, handsome boy. His eyebrows met in a straight, 
black line; but the eyes themselves were rather wide 
and weak. His chin, too, was of Grecian roundness 
and strength, but his mouth lacked decision. He was 


252 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


the sort of youth about whom one would not venture 
to predicate much that was good or much that was 
bad. He obviously needed ripening; ten years would 
tell the tale with Joe Norman. 

He had taken one great step toward full manhood 
in the past month. He had stepped up and faced his 
first gun fight without flinching. He had felt the 
tear and burn of a bullet through his arm. And 
now that he was himself again, the experience had 
fully doubled his self-reliance. Into his hands the 
sheriff, after a moment of explanation, delivered the 
letter, and the next morning in the early dawn Joe 
started north. 

There were two ways to Windville. One was a 
straight cut through the mountains, a journey up 
hill and down dale—dipping into little valleys where 
there were miserable ranches—and rising again to 
rocky heights. It was a leg-breaking short cut. 
The other means of approaching the town in the 
mountains was by no means simple. It would 
have wrecked the stanchest buckboard that was ever 
built, but it did not embrace half as many precipitous 
drops and back-breaking climbs. It was fifty per 
cent longer in time and a hundred per cent less in 
effort. So Joe took the roundabout way. 

He was a skillful judge of the strength of a 
horse, and he handled his mount so well that he 
reached Windville a short time after dark. He 
went straight to Windville’s one hotel. 

Not that this was any imputation against the size 
and wealth of the little city in the hills, but Jack 
Turner had gathered most of the business of the 
place into his own hands and he had built this 


THE SPY 


253 


rambling structure which contained blacksmith shop, 
general merchandise store; hay, grain and wood, 
saloon and hotel, all in shed after shed, shack after 
shack, story after story, a confused jumble of which 
the proprietor himself did not know half the details. 
It had grown up in the course of two or three 
generations as wildly and as freely as if it had 
sprung of its own strength and its own volition 
out of the rocky soil. 

To find a man in this place was like finding the 
proverbial needle. Joe Norman went straight to 
the source of all information—the bar; and to guide 
his inquiries he had only one bit of information— 
Jess Dreer was a gambler. 

It was an old situation that met him in the 
saloon. Two men were doing the spending. One 
stood at each end of the bar, each trying to set up 
more drinks than the other, and each drawing his 
own crowd of followers about him. Joe Norman 
instantly took a place in the exact middle—neutral 
ground, it might be called. And there he remained 
while the bartender served several rounds of drinks. 
He kept his own first drink untasted on the bar 
before him, and presently this sign that he wished 
to speak privately across the bar was noticed. 

The saloon keeper approached and lent a hasty 
ear, for he was perspiring with his labors. 

“Is there a game running around here?” he asked. 

“Sure,” and the other nodded, and lifted his eye¬ 
brows as he made the reply. “Go straight back. 
First door to your left. You’ll hear the noise where 
you start going down the hall.” 

The first impulse of Joe Norman was to follow 


254 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


this advice. But it occurred to him as singular in¬ 
deed that Jess Dreer, no matter how bold, should 
be sitting in at so public a game. So he remained 
standing at the bar with his drink still untasted 
until the bartender bent close to him again, this 
time with a frown. 

“Anything wrong?” 

“Nope. But ain’t there a game where I won't 
hear the noise?” 

The bartender returned no answer. He scurried 
down the bar and presently he flashed a keen glance 
at the stranger. 

“Harry!” he called, and to another man In a 
white apron he said: “Take my place for a minute, 
Harry. I see a friend.” 

He came from behind the bar. Toe Norman 
had already taken the hint and retired to an ob¬ 
scure corner. 

“Now, who are you, and what do you want?” 
was the first query. 

“I want a game, pardner.” 

“Sure you do, but why?” 

“Because I got a friend sitting in on it.” 

“Who?” 

“His name don’t matter,” said Norman cautiously. 
“Well, he’s a tall gent—three inches taller’n me. 
Broad shoulders, long pair of arms, long, lean face, 
steady sort of eye. Know him?” 

The bartender continued to dry his hands on his 
apron. 

“Hmm,” he said. “And who’ll I say is here?” 

“No name. Just tell him that a friend has got 
a message.” 


THE SPY 


255 


“Gimme the message, then.” 

Joe Norman hesitated. It might be that this fel¬ 
low knew nothing, but he had to take the chance. 
Looking the bartender squarely in the eye he smiled 
and waited in silence. 

It seemed that this smile meant many things. 
“Oh,” murmured the other. “Oh, that’s it, eh? 
Well, come along. Maybe you ain’t right, but I’m 
no mind reader.” 

He led past half a dozen little flights of steps, 
through many a crooked hallway, and came at length 
to a door which was totally black. No edging of 
light showed around it, yet on this he rapped. 
After a moment it was opened a little, and the light 
burst out. Joe Norman saw now that the edges 
of the door were padded with felt, the better to shut 
out light and sound. 

From within he saw nothing, heard nothing ex¬ 
cept the subtle whispering of card on card as some 
one dealt swiftly, and the fall was deadened by 
the cover of felt on the table. It was the most 
exciting sound Joe Norman had ever heard. 

In the meantime the bartender was conferring 
with an unseen man at the door, and in a murmur. 
At length the door was closed, and he turned to Joe. 

“Come here. He’ll see you in the next room.” 

He led the way to a dingy little square room with 
no light except a smoky lamp in a corner and there 
he left the spy. 


CHAPTER XXXV 

CORNERED-ALMOST 

T HE sound of the door closing was to Joe Nor¬ 
man curiously like the click of a trap which held 
him in. He had been rehearsing his part all during 
the long ride of that day, but now his mind misgave 
him. It might be that Jess Dreer had seen him in 
Salt Springs. It might be that even the bartender 
had recognized him. That might have accounted for 
the sidewise rat look that the latter cast at him 
from down the bar on the occasion oi his second 
question. 

At any rate, obeying a sudden impulse of panic, 
he hurried back to the door and tried the knob. 
It was locked! 

The blood rushed back upon the heart of Joe 
at that. There was a tingling at the roots of his 
hair, a deadly coldness on his face as though 
a breath of night wind had struck’him. They knew 
him, then? 

He stepped lightly to the window. It was open, 
but there was no gallery across it. Below him was 
a sheer drop of how much he could not well esti¬ 
mate in the darkness. Thirty feet, perhaps. He 
was trapped beyond doubt. He felt something be¬ 
hind him now; something impalpably taking hold on 
him, and when he turned he found that Jess Dreer 
had silently entered the room and stood at the 
other side of it, rolling a cigarette. 

He had never seen Dreer before; he had been 


CORNERED—ALMOST 


257 


refused admittance to the prison. But how could 
he tell that Dreer had not seen him? The rolling 
of the cigarette might mean anything. Perhaps the 
outlaw wished to appear careless at the very mo¬ 
ment when he was striving most to throw the other 
off his guard. But there was no mistaking the 
man. He fitted so closely with the description of 
the broad shoulders, the singularly long arms, the 
active fingers, that Joe Norman felt that he had seen 
a photograph of the man—that he was remember¬ 
ing the lean, long face. 

“How are you,” the outlaw was saying. “You 
got a letter for me?” 

“Yep,” murmured Joe. He was wondering if 
it had seemed suspicious, having been found at the 
window in that manner. 

“Lemme have it, will you?” and with the same 
gesture in which he lighted his match he nodded 
toward the table. 

On the table accordingly Joe put the letter. And 
it seemed to him that while one eye of the tall 
man dwelt on the burning match, the other was 
fixed on the visitor. Presently he inhaled the first 
deep breath and sauntered to the table. He paused 
with his hand* on the letter. 

“I dunno whether I know you?” he murmured. 

“You don’t. But maybe you’ll find my name in 
the letter.” 

“You know what’s inside?” 

“Nope, but I think he put my name in at the 
bottom.” 

“How d’you know?” 

“I asked him to.” 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


258 

The outlaw hesitated another moment and then 
ripped open the end of the envelope and shook 
out the contents. He raised the paper. 

It was infinitely instructive to Joe to* watch the 
reading of that letter. The tall man seemed totally 
absorbed in the contents, but he had raised the 
paper high, so as to catch the lamplight over his 
shoulder, and with his back to the light he was 
in a position to keep his visitor in the corner of 
his eye. By a certain tenseness about the face of 
the man, Joe knew that he was doing two things 
at once—reading on the paper and reading on the 
face of his messenger. 

A month before the thing would have unnerved 
the youngster. But during the month he had looked 
death in the face and now, setting his teeth, he 
waited calmly for the end. 

And this was what Jess Dreer read: 

Dear Jess: I’m breaking the rule and sending 
you a letter. The reason why is that there’s a big 
deal ahead. I know it is not your system to team it 
with anybody, but I thought maybe you’d change 
your plans for a bunch of my friends. 

They want you. They want you bad 

Here’s the idea. They got a can of money spotted. 
They got some experts with the soup and can open¬ 
ers. And they’ll have the whole job staked out. But 
if anything goes wrong, they want to have a good 
fighting head along to take charge. That’s why they 
want you. They’ll let you in deep. One third of 
everything. And nine chances out of ten you won’t 
have to lift a hand. 

If I thought they was any call for you to get 
mixed up in a scrap I wouldn’t send these boys to 
you, but I think the thing is dead easy. Also, they 


CORNERED—ALMOST 


259 


won’t be any widows and orphans made out of this 
job. It looks like such a good thing that I had to 
let you in. 

Here’s another thing. You can trust these gents 
the same as you would me. Just say the word, and 
they’ll tip you off to what’s coming. The chief 
thing is to get a gathering place staked out near 
Windville. The idea is for you to find the place. 
Then one of the gents will go on ahead, meet you, 
find out where the shack is, and go back and meet 
the boys, who’ll be on the way. It’s a neat little 
scheme, and your trail will be covered inches deep. 
As ever, your pal, Dan. 

P. S. The gent that brings you this is one of the 
bunch, of course. His name is Hank Loomis. You 
can go as far with him as you would with me. 

D. C. 

Over the contents of this letter he cast his glance 
again; then thrust a corner of the paper into the 
lamp chimney until the flame leaped, the paper 
caught, and went up in a yellow blaze. He dropped 
the filmy cinder to the floor and crushed it to a 
black stain with his foot. Then for the first time 
he gave his undivided attention to the messenger. 
“You’re Harry Loomis,” are you?” he asked. 
The word tripped on the tongue of Joe, but he 
blinked and caught himself in time. 

“Hank Loomis,” he said. 

“Sure. I guess that was what the letter said. 
You know me?” 

“You’re Dreer, I guess.” 

“Sure. Glad to know you. Sit down?” 

“Thanks.” 

“You must of known Dan quite a while, eh?” 
“Tolerable long.” 


26 0 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“Well, sir. I’m glad to know any old pal of 
Dan’s. Him and me has been pretty thick, off and 
on. Lots of good stuff in Carrol, eh?” 

“I’ll tell a man!” 

The blood was beginning to run warm and free 
in the veins of Joe Norman at last. 

“First look at Dan you’d think he was a sour 
sort. But he ain’t. No, sir, Danny has a sense 
of humor. Ever hear that story of his about the 
tenderfoot and the forty-foot rope?” 

Joe Norman chuckled. 

“Yep, that’s a good story, and they ain’t nobody 
can tell it like Carrol.” 

“That’s right. They ain’t. Well, old Dan and 
me has had our times together.” 

“I reckon you have, right enough!” 

“I remember one night down to Lawson—but 
maybe Dan told you about the time him and me 
rode the old spotted bull?” 

“Sure. I’d like to died laughing at that yarn.” 

“And the way that old bull jumped the fence, 
and I fell off?” 

“Yes, sir, he thought you was a goner.” 

“Tell you how it was. We’d been drinking just 
before.” 

“I remember Dan saying you’d blotted up some 
redeye just previous.” 

“And I didn’t no ways have no control over 
my legs.” 

“That’s nacheral enough.” 

“But I’ll tell you one queer thing, Hank.” 

“Go ahead.” 

Joe leaned forward, grinning. He had heard 


CORNERED—ALMOST 261 

of taciturnity in this man, and such voluble and 
friendly talk astonished him. 

“Here it is,” continued Jess Dreer, smiling broadly 
in turn. “In my time, off and on, Eve known 
some gents with pretty strong imaginations, but I 
never seen one to match you, Hank Loomis.” 

And as Joe stared at the tall man he saw that 
the other’s smile was set, mirthless, derisive. 

“Because you got a pile of ability to remember 
things that never happened.” He dropped his right 
hand a little and leaned in his chair so that he 
had a perfect chance for his revolver. But Joe 
Norman made no move to fight. The blow had 
fallen and stunned him. And he remembered again 
—for the hundredth time—that he was actually in 
the presence of the slayer of Jud Boone. And 
how many others! 

“Speaking personal,” continued the big man, “I’ve 
known Dan Carrol for a long time, and I’ve never 
heard him tell a funny story. And it wasn’t me 
that rode the bull. And Dan Carrol wasn’t never 
in Lawson.” 

The last remnant of his smile was gone. 

“And so-” he said and waited. 

Only one thing did Joe Norman see, and that 
was the bulge and fall of the muscles at the base 
of the outlaw’s jaw as he set his teeth. And he 
knew that when he faced the leveled gun of Charlie 
Valentine he had not been so near death as he was 
now. He was cornered, hopeless. Out of his very 
hopelessness he found the nerve to do what he did. 

He leaned back in his chair and laughed—laughed 
straight in the set face of Jess Dreer. And from 



262 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

between his wrinkling eyelids he saw the outlaw 
wonder. 

‘Til tell you what, Dreer,” he said sobering, and 
with a sudden burst of confiding. “I’ve made a 
mess of this. I guess I done wrong. But I'll 
tell you how it was. When the chief wanted to 
come up here with the letter I begged him to let 
me bring it. You see, I wanted to be the first to 
see you. I sure begged to come, and the 
old man let me take the letter. He wasn’t none 
too sure he was right to let me go, and now I 
see that he was right in doubting. Then when 
you got to talking I thought I could bluff you— 
well, I was a fool. I don’t hardly know Dan Carrol, 
but he knows the rest of the gang and he knows 
I’m straight. Does that clear me?” 

He laughed again. His very hysteria made the 
laughter more real. 

“I sure got tripped up quick, Dreer!” 

The big man rose to his feet. He was frowning, 
in a quandary, and he stared down at Joe Norman. 

“Hank,” he said slowly, “I sure got an idea that 
you’re double crossing me. Dan named you—and 
Dan’s got to be straight! Well, I’m going to take 
the chance. Take the chance on you. But I tell 
you now, son, you been near a bad time. But you 
go back to Salt Springs. Tell Dan Carrol that 
I don’t like this game. That it ain’t in my line. He 
ought to know that. But tell him that I know the 
luck was agin’ him the last time we was together. 
He’ll know what I mean by that even if you don’t. 
And now, if he thinks it would sort of square ac¬ 
counts for me to play this game, I’m his man. I’ll 


CORNERED—ALMOST 263 

do the job. But the profits goes to Danny and 
not to me. Will you make that clear ?” 

“Sure.” 

“Well, be on your way, then. I guess they 
ain't any too much time.” 

He held out his hand and gathered that of Joe 
Norman in the lean, powerful fingers. 

“Son,” he said quietly, “are you straight?” 

“Why,” gasped Joe, “sure I am.” 

The tall man let the hand fall. 

“I guess you: are,” he said slowly. “Anyway, 
you showed a pile of nerve a minute back—because 
I meant business. I thought—no matter what I 
thought. So long, Hank!” 

And Joe Norman heard the door close behind 
him as he turned away. Once more it made him 
think of a trap, but this time it was closing upon 
Jess Dreer. And he, Joe Norman, was pulling the 
levers that closed on the famous outlaw. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


THE POWER OF PERSONALITY 

I N the dawn of the next day Joe Norman took 
horse and rode again for Salt Springs with a 
rested mustang under him; and in the first dark 
of the night he reached the town once more. A 
great many things may happen in the mind of a 
man between dawn and dark, and a very great 
many had happened to Joe Norman. Vague mo¬ 
tions were passing through his small soul all that 
time, troubling, overwhelming him, almost. 

For he began to lose the malignant hatred of 
the Valentines which had spurred him on at first. 
He was seeing himself in a different light. The 
whole thing sprang out of the smile of Mary 
Valentine at that dance. It had gone to his head. 
It had robbed him of his senses. Then the pang 
that had gripped him when she turned away from* 
him the next time they met; the hasty word that 
burned his tongue the moment he had uttered it; 
then the meeting with Charlie Valentine. And 
out of that the affair went on into other hands. 

Still it was the smile of Mary Valentine that was 
the starting point. It dazed the boy to think how 
much had come from flirting with that slip of a 
girl. It was because of that flirtation that he had 
fallen. And then, to avenge him, Jud Boone, the 
man-killer, had been called in to strike down Charlie. 
And to meet the power of Jud Boone, the Valen- 


THE POWER OF PERSONALITY 265 


tines had appealed—through Mary herself, perhaps? 
—to a still more dreaded name, Jess Dreer himself. 
So Jud Boone had died, but still that smile of Mary 
worked. It was poison running through many 
minds. 

Jud Boone was dead, and now the cause was 
taken up anew. There was another goal—Jess Dreer 
himself, against whom all the power of the Nor¬ 
mans, all the cunning and strength of the law, was 
turned. And what was the cause? Because Mary 
had smiled! 

One man shot, others brought to the verge of 
death, one killed in the midst of his prime as a 
fighter, a jail broken, a town cast into confusion, 
and twenty men ready to take the trail for the 
head of Dreer—all this out of the smile of a 
girl. 

Two things connected themselves in the mind of 
the boy, at the end of all this remembering—Jess 
Dreer and Mary Valentine. They were the begin¬ 
ning and the end. He felt that there was also a 
kinship between them. She was more beautiful 
than other women. And Dreer was stronger than 
other men. And surely there had been no spite or 
malice in Mary. He was able to recognize that, 
at this distance. He saw that she had simply been 
playing a game that other people, without her will, 
turned into deadly earnest. Truly, it was not fair 
to accuse the girl. No more than it was possible to 
accuse Jess Dreer of sneaking crimes. 

A dozen times he jerked back on the reins and 
brought his horse to a stand as he remembered those 
words: “Son, are you straight?” 


266 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

And he had lied. Something told him that an¬ 
other man, the moment the first deceit was known, 
would have gone for his gun. But Jess Dreer had 
waited. He had put his trust in Carrol, and Carrol 
had sold him. Vaguely, Joe Norman wondered 
how any human being could sell such a man 
as Dreer. His right hand tingled still, in memory, 
where those bony fingers had closed over it. And 
he felt that the glance of the outlaw, plunging into 
his soul, had found good metal there, and something 
clean, and he had been trusted for his own sake 
as well as for that of Carrol. 

His head would jerk up when that occurred to 
him. 

Suddenly he was in Salt Springs. And he was 
sorry. He wished that what lay before him could 
be postponed. He wished that the trail still 
stretched far ahead of him, so that he could think, 
his thoughts keeping time to the sway of the mus¬ 
tang. 

But now the horse was put up, and he was in 
the sheriff’s office at the jail, with his father before 
him and Claney at one side. He was seeing them 
both in a new light, and a filmy figure was between 
them and him—the face of Dreer. 

His father took one look at him and then 
growled: “Bad news!” 

“It can’t be bad news,” said Claney. “He’s just 
fagged. Sit down, Joe.” 

And Joe sat down. His mind was working dimly, 
but like lightning. He was seeing many things, but 
none of them clearly. Chiefly he felt that what 
had at first been a natural thing, the carrying on 


THE POWER OF PERSONALITY 267 

of a feud just as he had heard the family used 
to do in the old day in Kentucky, was now different. 
It was cheap, false, dirty—it was the betrayal of a 
fine man. 

“Well,” said the sheriff at last, “bad news or 
goods news—out with it!” 

“Bad news,” said Joe slowly. 

“Well-” 

“I didn’t find Dreer.” 

That was all he could think of. It gave him 
a moment for further thought. 

“Then why the devil did you come back? Why 
ain’t you up there looking for him?” 

That from his father. 

“I done what you told me,” he said stubbornly. 
“And he wasn’t there.” 

“Did you ever see such a boy? And why didn’t 
you hit his trail and find him? Afraid?” 

“They wasn’t any trail. He ain’t the kind that 
leaves a trail.” 

The two older men silently glared at him. Then 
they stared at one another. 

Suddenly Claney leaned forward and stretched out 
his left arm on the desk. He began to count off 
his questions with the forefinger of his right hand, 
touching each of his left-hand fingers one by one 
and then curling them back so that at length a 
clenched fist was shaking under the face of the 
boy. That was his attitude of public questioning. 
That was the attitude under which more than one 
sneaking cattle thief had wilted. 

“Where’d you go first?” 


268 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


“The only place they was to go.” 

“That ain’t answering me. Where’d you go?” 

“To the hotel.” 

“And you asked for Jess Dreer?” 

“I ain’t fool enough for that.” 

His father put in: “The boy has some sense, 
sheriff.” 

“Shut up,” said Claney, “I’m doing this! Well, 
who did you see?” 

“Looked over the bartenders and picked out the 
wisest looking gent of the bunch. Then I stood off 
by myself at the bar and fooled with my drink 
till he seen I was waiting for something. Finally 
I got him over to one side-” 

“And asked him where Dreer was?” 

“Nope, I asked him where they was a game 
going on.” 

“Good!” chuckled the father. 

“Shut up!” cried Claney savagely. “What did he 
say ?” 

“That if I went down the hall I’d find a game— 
I could hear the boys talking.” 

“What did you say to that?” 

“That I wanted to find a game that wouldn’t 
make so much noise. Then he loosened up and 
asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted to 
find a gent that looked like Dreer, and I told him 
what Dreer looked like.” 

“And?” 

“And then he looked me over for a minute and 
finally he made up his mind I was on the inside 
and he told me all about it. Dreer had been there 



THE POWER OF PERSONALITY 269 

playing a game pretty steady. But the day before 
he hit the trail.” 

“What trail?” 

“I dunno, and the barkeep didn’t know.” 

“Why not?” 

“I dunno.” 

The sheriff gritted his teeth. “Then—we’re done! 
The whole game’s off, and Carrol is in five thou¬ 
sand !” 

“Take him the letter,” said Gus Norman, “and 
make him give back the coin.” 

“Couldn’t be worked—hut I’ll try. Let’s have 
the letter, Joe.” 

“Why—I—burned the letter, sheriff.” 

“You what?” interrogated the sheriff angrily. 

“Was I going to keep packing around a letter 
to an outlaw that’d be about enough to hang me, 
after the letter wasn’t no good any more?” 

The sheriff settled back in his chair. 

“What’d you do to it?” 

Gus Norman was about to explode, but the raised 
hand of Claney stopped him. 

“I—burned it, of course.” 

And he fought the critical eye of the sheriff. 
Claney began to smile. 

“Joe,” he said, “you’ve done noble—but not noble 
enough. You been lying!” 

“Me?” 

“Don’t stand up. Don’t pretend to get mad. You 
changed color the minute I mentioned the letter, 
son, and I seen it. Talk turkey, now. What hap¬ 
pened between you and Dreer?” 


270 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

Gus Norman cursed and exclaimed. “He's been, 
bought off! I'll-’’ 

“You’ll forgive him if he tells us the straight 
of it. Now talk, Joe. You’re among friends. 
But if you double cross us, we’ll make it hot for 
you.” 

“It’ll be the last day he spends under my roof,” 
declared Gus Norman fiercely. 

“Steady, Gus. Here, Joe. Have a drink. That’ll 
help you.” • 

The nerve of Joe Norman had remained steady up 
to this point. The offer of the drink—the tacit 
assumption of friendly, superiority, crumpled his 
powers of resistance. And all in a minute the lies 
of the interview were torn to pieces and thrown 
away. The truth was blurted from his lips, and 
the trap from which he had tried to free Jess 
Dreer, was set and cocked by his own hand. 



CHAPTER* XXXVH 

TAKING SIDES 

pROM her window:, Mary Valentine watched the 
moon go tip. She cotuld have named every hill 
as the pale light pkked it out, but her mind was 
too absent for that. Voices sounded in other parts 
of the house, but she heard them as from a great 
distance. All the world was blurred for her 
and had been ’blurred for many days. Some¬ 
times she found herself wondering at the change 
that had come over her; sometimes she would waken 
in the middle of the night* with an old hunted 
feeling. But there was nothing on which she 
could put her finger and say: This or that has 
happened. It simply, seemed that she had drifted 
into a new life, misted with unhappiness. 

No wonder then that the knock was twice re¬ 
peated before she called, and the door opened to 
Morgan Valentine. He came slowly across the 
room to her. 

“Sitting here in the dark?” he asked. 

“It is dark. I was watching the sunset. I didn’t 
notice how the time ran.” 

He waited a moment. Then: “They’s a caller for 
you, Mary.” 

“I’m not feeling like callers, Uncle Morgan.” 

“Honey, I wish you’d rrfake an exception.” 

“Well, if you wish it.” 

She rose. After all, it made little difference. 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


272 

Except that she had grown to have a singular prefer¬ 
ence for being alone. 

“I do wish it. You're going to fly out at me 
for asking you to see him when I tell you his name.’’ 

“I won’t fly out at you. I’ll promise that.” 

“Oh, girl, sometimes I almost wish you would 
have the old tantrums. Well, it’s Joe Norman.” 

“Joe Norman?” 

“There you go!” 

“I—I couldn’t help it. Joe Norman!” 

An intolerable disgust crept into her voice. 

“He’s a pile changed, honey. He asked me to 
see Charlie first. He shook hands with Charlie— 
told him he knew he’d been in the wrong—that he 
was sorry so many things had come out of it. 
Charlie shook hands right off and now they ain’t 
any malice between ’em. Will you see him 1 , Mary?” 

“You want me to?” 

“I’ll tell you why. I sort of feel that if you 
shake hands with Joe Norman and call it quits 
we’ll all get back to the old standing. Same as we 
used to be before all these things happened—all 
these things that begun with the shooting of Joe 
Norman.” 

She shook her head, but in the darkness he did 
not see. 

“I’ll go out and see him, then.” 

“Thank you, Mary.” 

They went out through the living room. 

“Joe’s in the parlor. He said he’d wait in there 
alone.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


MARY RIDES 

JWfARY passed down the hall and paused a mo 
ment at the door. Joe Norman was the 
man who, indirectly, had exiled Jess Dreer. But 
finally she opened the door and stepped in with a 
calm face. Joe rose to greet her. 

He was so changed that she almost cried out. 
The youthful curves were gone from his face. He 
seemed suddenly to have grown up. His eyes were 
dull and very deeply shadowed. 

All her anger, all her loathing melted away. She 
Went straight to him and took his hand. 

“If I’d* known it would be as easy as this,” said 
Joe Norman, smiling faintly, “I’d of come before.” 

She brushed that remark away. 

“But you’re changed, Joe. What’s happened-” 

She checked herself suddenly. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” murmured Joe. 
“You’re changed, too, Mary. Thinner. Not so 
much color. But—it sort of makes your eyes look 
bigger. And you’re quieter, too.” 

She was wondering why there was no sting in 
seeing him. “Do you know, Joe,” she said sud¬ 
denly, “we were both too young. And what’s hap¬ 
pened has waked us up, changed us both. If there’d 
been any bad feeling, it’s all gone now.” 

“I’m glad to know that,” said the boy soberly. 
“I’m leaving Salt Springs and going off. I wanted 



274 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


to shake hands and know that it was square be¬ 
tween us before I started.” 

“But where are you going, Joe?” 

“I'm cutting loose. I don't know where I'll land.” 

“You've been in trouble, Joe.” 

“Pretty bad. You see—me and my folks—you'll 
hear about it, anyway, so you might as well hear 
it from me. We had a difference, and they sort 
of threw me out, Mary.” 

“I’m sorry, Joe. Very sorry.” 

“Thanks. But between you and me I have an 
idea that it was the best thing that ever happened 
to me. I was different all the time, and just lately 
I’ve found it out.” 

He began to study the floor, hunting for some¬ 
thing to say and finding nothing; and the girl was 
silent likewise. 

“I suppose I'll be going. But we don't see you 
around much lately. I hear folks talking about it.” 

“I’ve settled down. I stay about the house. 
You’d think I were waiting for something to happen 
to see me. Good-by, Joe.” 

He took her hand, but at the door he turned 
again. 

“Something sort of bothers me about what you 
said just now, Mary.” 

“You can talk straight out to me, Joe. We're old 
friends.” 

“I was wondering—if you really wasn't waiting 
for something or for somebody?” 

She flushed at that. 

“You ain’t mad, Mary?” 


MARY RIDES 


275 

“No—I guess not. What put the idea in your 
head?” 

“Well, people say a good many things. I won’t 
believe ’em, if you say they’re wrong; I haven’t be¬ 
lieved ’em up to now. But what they say is that 
it was you that got Dreer away from the house 
that night. And that it was because of you that 
Dreer met-” 

“We won’t talk about it.” 

But he was studying her face, and the pain in it. 
All at once he dropped his hat and took her hands. 

“Mary, it’s true?” 

“About-” 

“About Dreer? You’re sort of fond of him, 

Mary?” 

“No, no! I hardly know him!” 

“He’s the kind you only have to see once to 
know. I seen him once, and I know him already 
better’n any man I ever met. Mary, it’s true. 
You’re fond of him, sort of?” 

“You’ve heard too much talk, Joe. Forget all 
that.” 

Once more he turned toward the door. When 
he looked back again she caught in his face an 
expression of profound pity. An instinctive fear 
rose in Mary Valentine; she slipped between him 
and the door. 

“What’s behind your questions? Tell me that 
before you go. Do you know something—about— 
him?” 

She was making no attempt at concealment now. 
Her heart was in her white face, in the great eyes 




276 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

that met the eyes of the boy. And he winced 
before her. 

‘‘Joe!” she cried under her breath. “They've 
taken him! That's why Uncle Morgan and the 
rest have looked at me so queerly the last day or 
two. They've known, but they wouldn’t tell me!" 

“Mary, I swear it isn't that!" 

“You’re lying, Joe. I can see the whole truth 
behind your eyes. Oh, Joe, tell me what’s hap¬ 
pened! Tell me they haven’t taken him!" 

But the boy shrank from her; there was some¬ 
thing like fear in his face. He said, wondering: 
“Mary, you do love him!” 

“I do. I’m proud of it, Joe. I love the ground 
he walks on and the air he breathes. One shake 
of his head is more to me than all the talk I’ve 
ever heard from men or women. You see that 
I've humbled myself to you, Joe. I've hidden noth¬ 
ing. And now—be just as true to me. Tell me 
what you know!" 

He shook his head, agonized. 

“There's nothing that can be helped. It’s as good 
as done already." 

“What? For Heaven’s sake, what?" She 
stopped, her lips parted. 

“Joe," she whispered, “he’s already dead! 
They’ve hunted him down—with numbers!" 

“No, no!" 

“I can stand it—so long as I know. Anything 
is better than imagining." 

He could not speak. 

“Only one thing. Tell me where it was?" 


MARY RIDES 277 

“If I'm wrong to tell you/' said the boy, “God 
forgive me. I’ve done you wrong before, Mary.” 

“I’ll forgive it all—everything that may happen— 
but tell me the truth, Joe!” 

“Then—it ain’t happened yet, Mary. But it’ll 
happen before morning is well on. An hour after 
the sun comes up. That’s the time they’ve set.” 

“Then why are you here? Why haven’t you 
raised the town ?” 

“To save an outlaw?” 

It crushed the words unspoken on her lips. 

“Besides, they kept me at home under guard for 
fear I’d do something. When I got out I came here. 
It was too late to follow ’em when they let me 
loose.” 

“When did they start?” 

“Late this afternoon.” 

“And now it’s night!” 

“Yes. Too late to do anything, Mary.” 

“Where-” 

“Near Windville.” 

She ground both hands against her face. 

And then she heard him say: “It’s too late. 
Even if it was day, it’d be too late, though then 
I might try to ride across the hills on the short 
cut. But by night—it’d be suicide, Mary!” 

She had come to life suddenly. 

“Oh, Joe, you know that short way? Would it 
take me there before morning?” 

“Even then it’d be an hour too late—even if you 
killed your hoss, Mary.” 

“But if I could fight all night—and come within 



278 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

an hour of saving him? Joe, you’ll show me the 
short cut?” 

“I’d do more’n that. I’d ride with you, Mary. 
I got a—debt to Jess Dreer that needs paying ter¬ 
rible bad. But it ain’t possible, I tell you.” 

She became calm, though her hands were shaking. 
“I’m going into my room to change my clothes 
to an old suit of Charlie’s. While I do that, you 
go out to the bam and get the boys to saddle Uncle 
Morgan’s Gray Tom for me. You’ll do that, Joe?” 
“Will nothing change you, Mary?” 

“I’m not going because I have hope, but simply 
because I got to do something. Joe, will you 
help me?” 

“I will.” 

“God bless you!” 

And she was gone through the door like a flash. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

THE UNKNOWN PURSUER 

IT OPE is contagious; even Joe Norman was 
A * touched by it as he hurried out to the stable. 
He gave the word from Mary Valentine, and it was 
obeyed with some hesitation, for no one on the 
ranch had ever heard of another person than Mor¬ 
gan Valentine himself riding the gray stallion. But 
they were accustomed to taking the word of Mary 
as a law second only to that of the master of the 
house. Or even before it, on occasion. 

So they led out Gray Tom. 

He was a fine fellow of fifteen three, muscled 
beautifully for speed, with long antelope legs. 

“And enough bone in ’em to write poems about,” 
as Joe Norman himself had said. 

The saddle of Mary Valentine was cinched on 
the long Eack of the stallion, and then she came 
herself, running as freely and swiftly as a man 
in her boy’s clothing. One word to Joe, one wave 
to the stableman, and they were into the saddles 
side by side and off at a rattling gallop. 

The difference between the two mounts was at 
once apparent. Joe Norman rode a fine horse that 
would have rejoiced the heart of the most particu¬ 
lar cattleman, a sturdy, stout-hearted, durable-legged 
animal with speed enough for any. But in the 
very beginning the cow horse was straining his ut¬ 
most to keep up, and Gray Tom was running well 


28 o 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


within his strength, with a wide-stretching gallop. 
He carried his head high and free, while Norman’s 
horse was stretched out straight as a string. 

“You’ll kill your hoss before you’re halfway 
there!” shouted Joe. “Rein in, Mary. You’ll kill 
Gray Tom!” 

“Let him die,” she answered through her teeth. 

“Morgan Valentine’ll never forgive you.” 

“I’ll live without his forgiveness. Faster, Joe.” 

“My hoss won’t stand it. He’s busting himself 
wide open now.” 

She looked across at the laboring animal and at 
once saw the truth. If she were to keep with her 
guide she would have to alter her speed, and re¬ 
luctantly, with a sob breaking in her throat, she 
drew the rein of Gray Tom. 

Even then they were cutting across the hills at 
a dizzy rate—and Windville so many and many 
a mile across the broken mountains! 

They were striking straight for the tallest and 
blackest of the peaks now, and presently they dipped 
down a sheer bank and into the dry bed where a 
great river had once run. The shod hoofs of 
the horses beat up a terrific rattling, and the echo 
from the stones knocked against the banks and came 
back at them, before and behind. 

It was hard going, too, with the danger always 
before them that one of the horses might pick up a 
sharp rock at any time and be rendered helpless, 
useless for that night’s work. But Mary Valentine 
was setting the pace, and Joe reluctantly spurred up 
beside her. 

It was dangerous going, but the river bed gave 


THE UNKNOWN PURSUER 281 

them a perfect grade by which they ate into the 
heart of the high country. And Mary cried out 
in her disappointment when the gravel road termi¬ 
nated in an abrupt mound, where a landslide had 
buried the old bed. 

There was nothing for it but to hit up the slope 
which lay straight ahead of them; as they struck 
the softer soil above the bank, Mary reined in her 
horse and raised her hand. 

“Do you hear, Joe?” she whispered. 

“Nothing. Where?” 

“Out of the river bed behind us.” 

“What?” 

“Listen again!” 

He bent his ear and now, indistinctly, he made 
out the far-off clattering of a horse that galloped 
across the pebbles. 

“It’s Morgan Valentine,” he said gloomily. 
“They’ve told him about you taking Gray Tom, and 
he’s following you. Mary, be reasonable. Give 
up and go back!” 

“I’ll die first,” sobbed the girl. “Come on, Joe. 
Hurry!” 

And she sent Gray Tom scurrying up the slope. 

Joe Norman followed reluctantly, shaking his 
head. Rut in this uphill going the shorter-legged 
mustang did far better, by comparison, than he 
had done in the level. He was made for the sweat 
and grind of climbing, jumping, side-stepping rocks, 
vaulting over fallen trees. And obstacles that mad¬ 
dened the high-spirited Gray Tom were taken in 
the most casual manner by the cow pony. 

It was only a brief climb to the first ridge; but 


282 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


when they came out on it Joe Norman stretched 
out his hand and caught the reins in the hand of 
Mary. 

“Look ahead!” he commanded. 

The girl obeyed, and her heart sank. 

Ridge after ridge lay before them, sharp crested, 
with the rocks on the summits glittering in the 
moonlight and the forest everywhere black, somber. 
It was such a sight as everywhere sends the thoughts 
of men to the shelter of a home. And as she 
looked on it, despair fell on Mary Valentine. 

“And that's not all,” said Joe Norman. “They’s 
a lot more of it than you can see from here. We're 
just on the edge of it. Them ranges are like 
rows of teeth. And the sides of some of ’em are 
as slippery as teeth. Mary, give it up. They ain't 
any use. Yout’ll kill Gray Tom, and you’ll kill my 
! hoss. I don’t care about that if we could gain any¬ 
thing in the long run. But we can’t. We're beat 
before we start. We was beat before we left the 
house, and I knew it, but I thought I’d come out 
with you and let you take the first run, so's the 
night wind would calm you up some, and you could 
see it was impossible.” 

“Then you lied, Joe. You said it could be done 
by day.” 

“I dunno. Maybe it could be done by day. But « 
by night it's pure suicide. Will you believe me, 
Mary? There’s slides that take your breath even 
when you got the sun to help you. But the moon 
ain't any good for ticklish work. It just shows 
you a pile of things that really ain’t there. And the 


THE UNKNOWN PURSUER 283 

real dangers it covers up. Will you believe me, 
Mary, and turn back?” 

“Go back yourself, Joe. I’ll go on. I've got 
to go on. But you go back, and I’ll find a way.” 

She touched Gray Tom with her spurs as she 
spoke, and the big stallion sprang out to the full 
length of his stride. He landed far down the 
slope, crashed upon some loose rock, staggered, and 
then plunged out of sight in the thicket with the 
noise of a living landslide. 

Joe Norman screamed: “Mary! You’re gone 
mad! Mary!” 

Only the noise of her wild descent roared back 
at him. He spurred his own mustang with a shout 
of horror and galloped after her. But more care¬ 
fully, letting the half-wild horse have his head 
partly to himself, for he knew that the instinct of 
the brute was all that could save them from being 
dashed to pieces a thousand times in such a place; 
no cunning of hand or sharpness of eye could warn 
the rider in time. 

It was a nightmare to Joe Norman. Somehow, 
they came out on the clearing at the bottom of the 
slope, and stretching across the open ground, he saw 
Gray Tom flash in the moonlight and then lunge 
once more into the dark of the forest toward the 
next ridge. 

An exultation that was half the cold of fear ran 
through the veins of Joe Norman. He spurred his 
horse frantically, and striking the far slope at full 
speed, they followed the crash of Gray Tom, lead¬ 
ing the way. Close to the top, he shouted again, 
and when he reached the ridge he found that she 


284 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


had reined her horse for a moment and was waiting 
for him. Gray Tom was panting as if he had run 
twenty miles. 

“You’re killing him,” he warned her. “But let 
him die, then. More to the left, Mary. You see 
that tall, bald rock? Holy Mount they call it? 
Strike toward that!” 

“Thanks, Joe. But faster, Joe. You keep me 
back!” 

“I keep you back to sense. But come on!” 

But there was no keeping the girl back. Once 
more she spurred Gray Tom, and once more the 
stallion, frantic in this wild ride, leaped o'u-t through 
thin air, smashed into the thicket far below, and 
went thundering toward the bottom of the slope. A 
sort of frenzy seized on Joe. With spur and quirt 
he sent the mustang flying down after the girl, and 
the wild horse went snorting, dancing like a sparring 
pugilist through the maze of young trees and shrubs, 
and coming out at the bottom almost even with 
Gray Tom. 

In the middle of the narrow valley floor Joe Nor¬ 
man drew rein with a low' cry of warning. The 
girl checked her horse. 

“Look up and back. Up to the top of the last 
ridge, just where we come over it!” 

She obeyed, and distinctly outlined, black against 
the moonlit sky, she saw a horseman top the ridge 
and shoot down into the forest with a noise that 
came distinctly to them. 

“That’s not your uncle, Mary. Your uncle would 
never ride as crazily as that. Who is it?” 

“I don’t know. It might be Uncle Morgan. But 


THE UNKNOWN- PURSUER 


285 


there was something I recognized about the way 
he sat the saddle, sort of sidewise. But come on, 
Joe. Whoever he is, he can't catch us.” 

And they drove together at the next slope. 

Fear was in them now, not so much of the 
dangerous trail which they were following as of the 
unknown man who rode so desperately after them. 
For if he had been a friend surely he would have 
tried to hail them. From the top of that last ridge 
he could easily have reached them with his voice, 
but they had not heard a sound. 

This slope was not so heartbreaking as the others, 
but, nevertheless, Mary Valentine held Gray Tom 
in. The harshness of his breathing was beginning 
to alarm her, and she knew that it is possible to 
break the heart of a horse in a very short time if 
he is allowed to run himself out. So she nursed 
the stallion up the slope. He was in better condi¬ 
tion already when he reached the top, and as they 
swung in a canter down a more moderate fall of 
ground beyond, Mary swung close to Joe. 

“I've remembered who that was like,” she called. 
“The man who’s following us is Sheriff Caswell 1 ” 


CHAPTER XL 


THE LANDSLIDE 

IT was a calamity of the first water. What was 
*** the use of riding to Jess Dreer if they brought 
his deadliest enemy in their wake? One hope re¬ 
mained, and that was to distance the sheriff and 
reach Jess far enough ahead to allow him to escape. 

So they gave their minds grimly to their work. 

They had not even time to talk, save a broken 
phrase here and there, but as the ride continued 
she gathered the full details of the plan of the 
Norman clan against Dreer. 

Gus Norman was to ride ahead of the rest and 
go straight to Dreer. There he would interview the 
outlaw and take him to a shack which he knew 
in the hills near Windville. Mary learned the lo¬ 
cation of the place by heart from Joe, who had 
heard Gus go over its description a dozen times to 
a dozen different members of the gang. He would 
take Jess Dreer to this ruined old cabin as to a 
rendezvous. 

Then he would leave the outlaw there and go 
to meet the others under pretense of calling in the 
members of the crew who were to take part in the 
fake robbery. 

The moment Gus had joined the others, they 
would swing down around the cabin and open a 
plunging fire from the rocks above. If, as was apt 
to be the case, they did not kill Dreer at the first 


THE LANDSLIDE 


287 

discharge, they would, nevertheless, have him in an 
utterly helpless position. At worst, they could easily 
set the cabin on fire and kill the outlaw as he at¬ 
tempted to flee from the cover. To make his es¬ 
cape entirely impossible, the first discharge would be 
chiefly directed against the roan mare, Angelina. 
On foot, Dreer’s chances of a dash for liberty 
would be less than zero. 

Mary did not hear this story in one fluent narra¬ 
tive, but an interrupted series of explanations, ex¬ 
clamations, and phrases here and there gave her 
ample groundwork on which to build the complete 
picture of the plot. 

Sometimes, as her hatred of the whole clan of 
Normans swelled in her, she felt like snatching a 
revolver from the holsters and firing it into the 
breast of the man beside her. Sometimes a great 
wonder grew in her that out of the very list of 
Dreer’s enemies had been furnished the man who 
gave life to this wan ghost of a last hope. 

Now the labor of the ride cut off the very possi¬ 
bility of thought from her mind. 

They had struck what Joe assured her was the 
longest and most severe of the hillsides that they 
would encounter on the entire ride. It led up to> a 
dangerous slope beyond, generally called The Slide, 
on account of the precipitous angle of the drop of. 
ground. And now Joe Norman, who had been a 
weight upon her spirits in the beginning, was rapidly 
reviving. 

He began to throw out hopes. Never, even in 
daylight, had he ever heard of such a distance 
through the hills being covered in such a short space 


288 


THE LONG, LONG TEAIL 


of time. To be sure, the hardest part of the ride 
lay before them, and they would have to take it 
with horses completely fagged, but, nevertheless, 
there was the glimmering of the first dawn of hope. 
It might be done. Half the night was spent, but 
the other half, before that fatal time of an hour 
past dawn, they might reach the shack and give the 
warning to Jess Dreer. 

He told her this while the horses sweated and 
grunted up the long rise. Once, on a shoulder of 
the slope, they paused by mutual consent to give 
the animals a breathing space. 

Then, far and dim below, they heard the horse 
of the pursuer coming up the slope. 

At this, they hurried on, the mustang now show¬ 
ing a condition fully as good as that of Gray Tom; 
but when they came out on the brow on the crest, 
Joe Norman stopped the girl with a yell of alarm. 

The face of the hill was dished away. It had 
literally disappeared, and the head of Gray Tom 
was hanging over an abyss. 

“A landslide!” groaned Joe Norman. 

By the moonlight they could make it out plainly 
now. First there was a straight fall of cliff for a 
dizzy distance. Below this an apron of debris was 
spread, covered with what seemed to be stubble 
in the distance, but what they knew to be the 
splintered hulks of trees. 

Even as they stood, their horses side by side, 
looking at one another in utter despair, the ground 
quivered beneath them. They were barely able to 
spur onto firmer ground when the entire table where 
they had stood before gave way, shuddered, yawned 


THE LANDSLIDE 289 

wide, and a thundering avalanche rushed down the 
slope. 

The noise of the fall died away. A thick silence 
fell. Then the echo from the far hillside picked 
up the noise and sent it rumbling and rushing back 
at them 1 , as if the landslide had roused some monster 
in the valley and made it roar defiance. When 
that echo died away they could hear another sound 
distinctly from the hillside behind them; the noise 
of the pursuer following -up the slope. He would 
be upon them in a moment. 

“Quick, Joe!” pleaded the girl. “What can we 
do?” 

“They’s only one way out,” said Joe Norman 
sullenly, “and that’s to go back. We’ve had our 
work for nothing.” 

“I tell you, there has to be a way!” 

“None in the world. Straight yonder—there’s the 
direction for us. But we’ll never get there.” 

She swung her horse around with a cry of grief 
and impatience and rode him along the ridge, 
desperately close to the edge of the landslide. Her 
shout brought Norman beside her. She was point¬ 
ing down through the moonlight. 

“Don’t you think if we put our horses back on 
their haunches, they’d go down that sliding all the 
way to the bottom?” 

He looked over, and shuddered as he craned his 
head to look, for she was much nearer the edge on 
Gray Tom than he had dared to ride. 

At this place the landslide had not ripped away 
the soil to the sheer face of the rock. There was 
no right-angle face of stone, but a skirting of the 


290 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


raw dirt came up to the edge of the ridge and 1 swept 
away down to the floor of the gulley at a dizzy 
angle. Halfway down it veered out toward a more 
generous angle. 

“Mary,” he said, lifting his head, “you got a pile 
of courage even to think of it. I’ll tell you what. 
It’d be just the same as jumping a hoss over a 
cliff. Except that a cliff would kill hrm a little 
quicker.” 

“But if we had luck-” 

“No kind of luck could save us, Mary. Plain 
suicide. Suppose a hoss could keep upright sliding 
down, he wouldn’t be able to pick his way. All he 
could do would be to sit back on his haunches and 
slide. And if he struck a big rock or a tree stump— 
or anything to knock him over—why, he’d keep 
right on rolling over and over till he hit the bottom 
with a smash. He’d be dead long before that, and 
his rider would j'ust be a red smear trailing out 
behind him.” 

The moonlight somehow helped to paint the pic¬ 
ture vividly. She saw herself on Gray Tom shoot¬ 
ing down the slope—the rock lifting suddenly out 
of the moon haze—the crash, the toppling of the 
horse upon his side—and then death. 

Then she heard the noise of the pursuer coming 
up the slope, terribly near now. Fear of something 
behind, unknown, balanced the fear of what lay 
before her. 

“Joe,” she cried, “good-by. I’m going.” 

“No, no! Mary!” 

He flung himself from the mustang and strove 
to reach the head of Gray Tom; but she had swung 




THE LANDSLIDE 


291 


the stallion straight out to the edge cf the ridge, 
and as Joe sprang forward he saw the ground 
tremble, quake, and sink down. 

He whirled about; he was barely in time to spring 
back to solid ground, and when he looked again Gray 
Tom, with a snort of terror, was plunging down 
the slope. 

One thing favored Mary, and that was the very 
fall of the ground, for it launched her smoothly 
and slowly on the downward journey. The chief 
trouble was that the rush of earth and stones around 
him maddened Gray Tom. He tried to straighten 
and spring away from that senseless confusion, but 
the girl flung herself far back in the saddle, and 
throwing all her weight on the reins, managed to 
pry him back on his haunches; far back. He was 
almost sitting down. Then the impetus of the drop 
caught them, and they shot down. 

The ridge was whipped away from behind them; 
she looked far ahead. The distance to the floor of 
the gulch seemed treble as far as it had been from 
the top of the ridge above her. Nor was the ground 
half as smooth as it had appeared, viewed at the 
close angle. There were patches of muddy clay; 
there were streaks of gravel which, when they 
struck them, sent a raging avalanche pouring before 
them. 

But the danger was not in the speed of the slide. 
It lay in the projections which jagged up and back 
at them like shark teeth. The end of a tree stump 
jumped at them from the night. A ragged edge 
caught her shoulder and ripped the sleeve away to 
the wrist, and when this was past she saw a certain 


2g2 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


doom before them in the form of a big rock. There 
was no dodging it, and it was far too bulky to sway 
away from. Chance entered there and saved them. 

The slide had swerved on either side of the 
boulder, and Gray Tom, in turn, was swerved along 
the path of least resistance and whipped by the rock. 

Now they struck the apron of more level going. 
It spread out flatter. Gray Tom had lurched to his 
feet and was going at a mad gallop, floundering 
through loose soil, rushing on so that the air sung 
in the ears of Mary Valentine, and then, how, she 
did not know, the floor of the gulch was flat before 
her and Gray Tom had drawn down to a rocking 
canter. 

He was trembling like an aspen through all his 
bulk, but he was unhurt. Her own blood had turned 
to ice, but looking back to the sickening height, 
she saw a tiny figure gesticulating. Then exulta¬ 
tion swept over Mary. Her blood ran warm again. 
If there had been a chance before, there was a 
double chance now. 

She put the spurs to Gray Tom and rushed for 
the next hillside. 


CHAPTER XLI 


UPHILL AND DOWN DALE 

A T the top she turned for a last look at the 
** slide, and pausing an instant at the crest, she 
saw a tiny, dark figure slip over the edge and go 
downward with bulletlike speed. 

Her heart rose. Was it Joe Norman? Had he 
taken courage by her example? The moment the 
thought came into her brain she knew that it was 
impossible. After all, it was not in Joe’s nature to 
rise to great emergencies. He had done his utmost 
in guiding her so far through the night on that 
dangerous course, and now he would turn back with 
the adventure half accomplished. In all his life he 
would never rise to a greater thing than that. 

It was Sheriff Caswell who had taken the slide; 
now his horse was a dim streak crossing the floor 
of the gulch. Sheriff Caswell! He was one of those 
bulldog men who make great risks seem small and 
who turn the impossible into the commonplace. 

She turned Gray Tom straight ahead and began 
to ride like mad. Strangely enough, the fear for 
Jess Dreer had grown small in her mind. The one 
thing which she most dreaded was the man who re¬ 
lentlessly followed on her trail, and to get clear of 
him she rode the stallion without care, without cau¬ 
tion. She flung him at heartbreaking slopes. She 
rushed him down precipitous hillsides; but always, 
looking back from crest to crest, she could see the 


294 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

dark figure following. But growing smaller, to be 
sure. Then, at length, the pursuer had disappeared. 

For the first time in several miles she thought of 
Gray Tom, and the moment she looked to him she 
saw that he was in a serious condition. His breath 
came with alarming harshness; his neck and shoul¬ 
ders were lathered, and he staggered under the 
burden of his rider. Yet he kept gallantly to his 
work up the slope, and when she reined him, he 
came up on the bit and fought her to get ahead. 

Only a moment of this, then his hind quarters 
sank. He stopped. She thought for an instant that 
he had stepped in a hole, until the great shudder¬ 
ing of his body told her what had happened. Then 
she sprang from the saddle, but it was far too late. 
Gray Tom had crumpled helplessly to the earth. 

She caught his head in her arms, and as if he 
thought that this was a signal for him to stand up, 
he pricked his ears, tossed his head, and lurched for¬ 
ward. It was the last effort, and it broke his heart 
When he struck the ground again he was dead. 

Beside him the girl kneeled, and seeing his eyes 
dim in the moonlight, she closed the lids as though 
he had been a man. And truly Gray Tom had 
died a man's death. 

She was helpless now, but in spite of her help¬ 
lessness a great assurance was filling her mind. One 
death had been paid for Jess Dreer, and surely there 
must be some reward for that great effort. In her 
first frenzy she even dreamed that she might com¬ 
plete the journey in time on foot, and she ran stum¬ 
bling to the next hilltop. 

There she paused with a cry of joy, for in the 


UPHILL AND DOWN DALE 


295 


low, wide valley below her she saw the dark, hud¬ 
dled outlines of a ranch house and its outlying 
buildings. 

Back to the body of Gray Tom again, running 
now as she had never run before. She untied 
the girths and after a fierce struggle was able to 
draw them through under the body of the horse. 
Then, drawing the stirrups over her shoulders and 
pulling the saddle high on her back, she began 
climbing again at a shuffling run. 

A thirty-five-pound saddle is the clumsiest burden 
ever invented. Even a man would have groaned 
under it before the walk was over, but Mary Val¬ 
entine was staggering with exhaustion before she 
reached the door of the house. 

In answer to her knock and her shouting, foot¬ 
steps at length ran toward her from within, and 
the door opened on a man in his shirt, a lantern in 
his hand, his feet not yet worked down in his boots. 
He was one of those black-haired fellows whose 
beards grow up to their eyes. Another time she 
would have been terrified by that face; now she 
minded it no more than if he had been a painted 
thing. 

She told him swiftly, briefly, how her horse had 
dropped. She must have another. She had money 
to pay any price he asked. But speed was the thing 
she needed. The man was maddeningly slow. 

“Selling a hoss by night,” he declared, “is like 
marrying a girl whose face you ain’t never seen.” 

“Don’t you see,” she cried, “that I don’t care 
if I’m cheated? But I want the best thing on four 
legs that you can give me.” 


296 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

“The best thing I got comes high, lady. I 
wouldn't take a penny under three hundred for my 
Jerry; and I wouldn't be hungry to sell him at 
that." 

She assured him that she would add another hun¬ 
dred to the price if he would throw the saddle on 
the horse quickly and let her be off, and with this 
assurance the rancher came to life. Five minutes 
later he came out of the corral with a long, low- 
built brown horse with Mary's saddle on its back. 
She thrust the money into his hand, and without 
waiting for him to count it, she was off again at 
full speed. 

Her new mount had not the reach of Gray Tom, 
had not the same elastic spring in his gait, but 
before she had gone up the first slope she was de¬ 
lighted with her purchase. Jerry was raised among 
these hills and trained to the work in them. He 
seemed to have eyes in his feet, and he wove among 
the shrubbery and trees and over the loose rocks 
with hardly ever a pause or a stumble. 

The hill ended in a broad plateau, the first level 
going in many a mile, and she leaned over and 
gave Jerry his head. He did surprisingly well in 
spite of his short legs, and with every jump the 
heart of Mary rose. It was not dawn yet. There 
was not even a glimmer of light in the East; surely 
Windville could not be so far away. 

At the edge of the broad clearing she heard a 
neigh behind her, which Jerry answered as he ran, 
and looking back, she saw again the same stalwart 
figure pursuing her, the same sidewise seat in the 
saddle. Sheriff Caswell! 


UPHILL AND DOWN DALE 


29 7 


It was easy to tell what had happened. He had 
come upon Gray Tom; he had followed down into 
the valley and arrived at the house of the rancher 
on her very heels. There he had changed his horse 
for one of the farmer’s, and now he was measuring 
strides with her again, but on an equal basis, as 
fresh as the Jerry that stretched out under her. 

During the next half mile she made a trail of 
speed, but her follower kept the pace and even 
gained. It told Mary Valentine, more plainly than 
words, that she must do something more than stretch 
the legs of her horse if she wished to shake off 
this bulldog of the trail. And she made up her 
mind with the cold quickness of a desperate man. 

She swung Jerry from the trail on which he was 
running at that moment, and pulling him into a 
thicket of brush, she drew from its case the light 
rifle which she always carried when she rode. With 
the butt snuggled into the hollow of her shoulder 
and her left hand at the balance, she waited, hearing 
the sheriff come crashing after her. She wondered, 
as she sat the saddle in the patch of heavy shadow, 
at the steadiness of her nerves. There was not a 
quiver of fingers or arms. 

Now the head of the sheriff’s horse shot snake¬ 
like from among the trees, and a second later the 
whole group was in view. She snapped the muzzle 
of her rifle up, steadied it, caught her bead, and 
let the rifle swing easily, following the speed of the 
moving horse. When she fired, the animal sprang 
straight up, came down with a lurch and stagger, 
and then sank to the earth; the sheriff was already 
clear of the stirrups. She saw him run a step or 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


298 

two toward her, his revolver in hand, but then he 
paused abruptly. 

She had twitched Jerry around and sent him fly¬ 
ing up the trail again. No enemy behind now; and 
since the sheriff was out of the way, her mind fell 
back on the great duel in which she was engaged. 
She had a horse under her, fresh, strong, willing; 
she had against her the inevitable rising of the sun 
and the rough tract of hills and valley. One stumble 
might ruin her chances in the race. 

Yet she dared not ride with caution. A gathering 
chill in the air, a depression of mind, a general 
relaxation of nerve force, and an aching pair of 
eyes warned her that the dawn was coming. Look¬ 
ing up from a hollow, there was only the black¬ 
ness of the forest above her. But, topping a rise 
of ground, she saw that the trees on the rolling 
horizon were jagged as teeth reaching up. They 
were outlined by a light from behind. It was 
dawn! 

It brought her heart up behind her teeth, knock¬ 
ing. Into her mind surged pictures of Jess Dreer 
by the fire in her home; of Jess at her window; and 
of the outlaw behind the bars in the Salt Springs 
jail, nonchalant in spite of his manacles, smiling 
his assurance at her. It came to her that he had 
never spoken to her of such things as now went 
hot and thick through her blood. He had remained 
aloof, yet she had read in his mind the unspoken 
things. 

She had raised Jerry to a murderous pace. Would 
he stand it? 

The stout mustang ran with his head well down, 


UPHILL AND DOWN DALE 299 

like a cattle horse running a dodging cow. For a 
horse cannot dodge well when his head is high in 
the air. He spread out along the ground as he 
gathered speed, but never once did he miss footing. 
Once a rotted log crushed under his heels; once a 
pebble rolled and staggered him; but not once was 
Jerry at fault. Toiling up the steep slopes, or zig¬ 
zagging heavily down the precipitous mountainsides, 
he never once flinched from the labor. 

She could have blessed that honest brute heart, 
and she began, with the light to aid her, to help 
him with all her power of hand and eye. She 
kept well forward in the saddle to throw the weight 
an inch or so more toward Jerry’s withers. Keep¬ 
ing as near as possible to the direction which Joe 
Norman had plotted for her, she yet was able to 
cut off vital angles here and there, and often swerved 
from the straight line to give Jerry the advantage 
of better ground for running. 

And still the light increased with terrible rapidity. 
She topped a rise of ground. To the right a point 
of flame startled her like a rising forest fire, but 
when she looked again she saw a regular semicircle 
of red. And still nothing but ragged ranges ahead 
of her. When would they split apart and reveal 
Windville? And from Windville, how far to the 
lonely cabin? 

In a sudden burst of grief she clasped her hands 
against her breast, and the tears broke from her 
eyes. 


CHAPTER XLII 


INSIDE THE SHACK 

T^ROM the broken door of the ruinous shack Gus 
Norman looked up to the hills. Behind them his 
men were gathering, drifting slowly toward the 
hollow between the hills and the double-eared peak 
which rose like a mule’s head. It was a black moun¬ 
tain now, with the rising light of the day behind 
it. The sun was well up; in a few minutes, now, 
he could ride to that hollow and find his men wait¬ 
ing, all the proven twenty who had started on the 
ride. Now that he was in the place, he was more 
satisfied with it than ever. The shack lay in a 
roughly cut bowl, with a rim of higher ground all 
around that would give perfect protection to his 
riflemen in point-blank range of their target. Even 
if Dreer sought protection in the hut, having avoided 
the first volley, he would be a lost man. Through 
those rotten walls a rifle bullet would range from 
side to side. They could honeycomb the shack in 
five minutes of concentrated fire, half of them aim¬ 
ing breast high and half shooting at the level of the 
floor, in case he tried to lie down. 

No wonder, then, that Gus was smiling when 
he turned back into the hut. Dreer had kindled 
a fire and was warming his hands over it. He 
kept his face religiously toward Gus Norman, Early 
in the night Gus Norman had noted this. Indeed, 
he had had flashes of hope that events would turn 


INSIDE THE SHACK 


301 


out so that he could take this celebrity single-handed 
and gain the glory all for himself. One moment 
of carelessness, and his gun would flash and speak. 

But that moment never came. If Dreer had to 
turn his head, it was only for the split part of a 
second before he had his eyes on the other once 
more. And Gus Norman began to respect his com¬ 
panion as much as he hated him. Just as a dog, 
say, might respect a wolf. 

“The time's almost here,” he said, turning from 
the hills. “The boys will be waiting for me up 
yonder, pretty soon.” 

“Rainier,” answered Dreer, “the thing I don’t 
understand is why you didn’t have ’em meet here 
in the cabin.” 

“Because I don’t like to have ’em meet until I’m 
with ’em. Each one of them boys, Dreer, knows 
that he’s to ride to the hollow yonder, and that 
he’s going to meet me there, but about three of ’em 
don’t know the others in the crowd. That’s my 
system. I play a lone hand. I let in the other 
boys, one by one, on part of the game, but I keep 
everything dark except just the part each one is 
going to play.” 

“Not a bad idea. I suppose Hank is one of the 
new men?” 

“Yep, he’s new, right enough.” 

“And raw, Rainier. I’m surprised that you use 
a boy like that.” 

“I’ll tell you what, Dreer. I was a fool to 
send him to you with that letter. I might of 
knowed that he’d try to talk too much or some¬ 
thing like that. But he’d been on my hands for 


302 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


a long time without doing nothing. He wanted 
to earn his salt. So I told him to go along and 
fetch that letter to you.” 

4 ‘He told me it was that way. But he looked 
like a rat in a trap. Couldn’t meet my eye.” 

“You scared him, Dreer. Same as you scare 
most of ’em. Tell you what, when I told a couple 
of the boys that I was aiming to get you in on 
my next job, they acted like a cyclone had hit ’em. 
Acted as though you ate men alive.” 

“And why the devil do you want me, Rainier?” 

“Because you’re a good man to have, Dreer. 
You can keep a cool head. We’ll strike up a partner¬ 
ship before we’re through.” 

“Not in a thousand years. I’ve told you that 
before. I’m in on this one job, and the only rea¬ 
son I’m in on it is because my pal, Dan Carrol, 
has begged me to go through for him. After this 
I’m out.” 

“Wait till you count the easy money, Dreer. 
I’ve heard others talk like you until we’ve got the 
can opened and the stuff in our pockets. Then 
they change.” 

He turned toward the door again. 

“I wonder if it ain’t time to go now?” 

“You seem sort of anxious to see them boys,” 
remarked the outlaw suspiciously. 

“Fact is,” replied Gus Norman, “that they’s a 
couple of ’em I ain’t laid eyes on for a long time. 
I’m kind of homesick for ’em.” 

He went to the wall and took down a saddle 
from the peg. 


INSIDE THE SHACK 


303 

“Well, I'm off, Dreer. Back inside of half an 
hour." 

“Take your time. But what's that?" 

A heavy matting of grass covered most of the 
valley, muffling the sound of all who approached, 
but near the cabin there was a gravel coating to the 
ground. On this gravel, now, came the loud clatter 
of a galloping horse, and rushed on the cabin. 
Both men faced the door, but neither of them had 
time to reach it, when a foaming horse lunged 
into view and from the saddle leaped a slender youth, 
who staggered when his feet struck the ground. He 
recovered himself, turned toward the cabin, and 
Dreer saw the face of Mary Valentine. 

“Oh, Jess," she cried hysterically. “I'm in time. 
But watch him!" 

There had been one convulsive movement on the 
part of Gus Norman, but now he apparently saw 
that it would be impossible for him to reach his 
horse and escape. He stood with a sullen face in 
the comer. 

“What’s the matter, Rainier?" 

“Rainier?" said the girl. She entered the cabin 
and stood with her feet braced, her legs trembling 
with weariness. 

“He’s no more Rainier than I am. Rainier is 
a mere robber. That man is a sneaking murderer, 
Jess. That's Gus Norman." 

“My, my," said Jess Dreer softly, but his face 
was black. “I been thinking you was a little wrong, 
Gus Norman, but I never come within miles of 
guessing. Not within miles!" 

“You got me two to one," said Gus Norman, 


3°4 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


fixing his eyes on the girl. “You got me cornered; 
Ill talk turkey.” 

“Not two to one,” said Jess Dreer. “Not by 
no means. One of us is a girl, Gus Norman. I’ll 
send her out of the cabin, and you and me can 
finish up with a little chat man to man. Eh?” 

Norman’s mouth worked convulsively behind his 
beard. For one instant his wolfish face grew so 
savage that it seemed he was about to draw, but 
he controlled himself. 

“No use,” he said doggedly. “I won’t fight you, 
Dreer. I ain’t a trained man-killer, and you know 
it. Nope. I ain’t got you, yet, but you ain’t got 
me. I’ll tell you why. The minute the/s a gun 
fired, Dreer, them hills will come alive. They’ll 
be twenty men come hopping for this cabin. You’re 
a hard man, Dreer, but d’ you think you could get 
twenty fighting men?” 

He leered at him as he spoke. 

“No, son. We split fifty-fifty. You can go out 
with me, and I’ll call the boys off. That’s square.” 

“Except that you lie,” broke in Mary Valentine. 
“Don’t you see it in his little, animal eyes, Jess? 
The truth is that his gang of Normans and Sheriff 
Claney are all cached up yonder, between the ears 
of that mountain. They’re waiting until they get 
his signal that you’re here, and they aren’t ex¬ 
pected to be there, waiting, until an hour after sun¬ 
rise. That was the plan.” 

Jess Dreer watched Norman silently, and under 
that stare the older man backed up slowly until his 
shoulders struck the wall. 


INSIDE THE SHACK 305 

“Just step out to my saddle and get me the coil 
of rope you find on it, will you, Mary.” 

She obeyed; and a minute later Norman was 
trussed beyond hope of movement. 

“I’d ought to kill you, Norman,” said Jess, “but 
I leave butchering for the slaughter houses.” 

He turned to the girl at last. Until now he 
had given her not a word of welcome, but now, 
as his glance went slowly, leisurely over her, words 
became too light for use. 

Her hair had fallen loose under the brim of 
her hat; from one white arm the sleeve had been 
torn; and now she was shrinking into the shadow, 
as if ashamed of her man’s dress. 

“Mary,” he said, at last, “what have you done 
for me?” 

“It was the short cut that brought me here; I 
thought it was too late when I got the news, but 
now—I’m here, Jess, and you’re safe! I’ve been 
thinking on the way—-I’ve been seeing you—dead! 
You see? You seem more of ghost than real right 
now.” 

He raised his hand to stop her, growing thought¬ 
ful. And his lean face puckered until one might 
have thought that he was becoming angry. 

“You rode through the mountains from the ranch? 
You did it at night?” 

“There was the moon—almost as bright as day, 
Jess.” 

He shook his head. 

“I didn’t know they was any women like you, 
Mary. I didn’t know they was even any men.” 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


306 

“But stay away, Jess. Stay away! I’m afraid 
of you! Don’t come stalking at me like that!” 

“I was going to shake hands,” said Jess Dreer, 
“to show the world in general, and mostly to show 
you, that Jess Dreer has a pal at last. And heavens, 
girl, but I’ve led a lonesome life.” 

A smile began to tremble on her lips—surely she 
had never been so lovely as she was now in the 
shadow, in those ragged clothes—but the hand 
which she extended toward him was arrested half¬ 
way. 

“Jess!” she screamed, looking past him. “Cas¬ 
well!” 

He whirled as the first word left her lips; whirled 
toward Caswell, who stood, gun in hand, at the 
door; and the marvel of it was that he was able 
to get his gun from the holster and fire before 
Caswell could send home his shot. He fired, and 
the sheriff wavered as though he had been struck 
with a fist; then his own gun spoke, and there was 
a clangor of steel. The revolver flew out of the 
hand of Jess Dreer, struck the wall, and dropped 
with a clatter on the floor, while Jess Dreer stood 
staring stupidly down at his disarmed hand. 

Mary, with a wail of terror, caught out her own 
weapon, but the slow voice of Dreer stopped her. 

“Put away that gun, Mary. You see, Caswell 
ain’t like that thing in the corner. He’s a man, 
and he won’t fight a woman. So just put up your 
gun. I reckon this little play is all over.” 


CHAPTER XLIII 

THE OBSTINATE SHERIFF 


OHE hesitated, and then obeyed. 

^ “It isn’t possible,” she moaned. “He can't 
be here!” 

Sheriff Caswell stepped through the door, his left 
arm dangling oddly by his side. 

“To tell you true,” he said quietly, “a couple of 
times during the ride it didn’t look noways possi¬ 
ble to me, either. Once when we come to the slide, 
and then when you shot my hoss.” He shook his 
head. “That wasn’t hardly fair play, but then I 
never see a woman that wouldn’t shave pretty close 
to the shady side of things. This is how I’m here: 
I went back to the ranch after you drilled my hoss 
and got another, and my second hoss was some 
piece of deviltry and leather. They wasn’t no wear 
out to that hoss, but I wore him out, anyways. He 
dropped a while back, and I come on by foot and 
staged this little surprise party just when I’d give 
up my last hope. Jess, I’ll trouble you to go over 
there and cut my friend Norman loose. I see you 
been entertaining him a plenty.” 

Without a word Dreer obeyed. At the touch of 
his knife the rope fell apart, and Gus Norman rose. 
He showed no exultation because of the presence 
of the sheriff. In fact, he hated the man who had 
seen him tied and helpless. 

“Looks like you’re making ropes popular for 


3°8 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


clothes, Jess,” went on the sheriff. “First it's 
Claney; now it’s Norman. If you don't mind, I'll 
give you the same sort of a rig—unless you’ll give 
me your parole, pardner?” 

But Dreer smiled. 

“Of course, I'm a goner. I've always felt, Cas¬ 
well, that if you ever got your teeth into me the 
game would be up. And now; I suppose it is. But 
I’ll keep trying.” 

The sheriff sighed. 

“All right, Jess. Then it's the rope; which I 
hate to use 'em on a man-sized man. Norman, will 
you oblige me by slipping a couple of nooses around 
Dreer’s arms and legs?” 

The other spoke for the first time. 

“Pardner,” he said viciously, “they's one thing 
that would put him out of trouble. Why not try 
it and save the rope?” 

He touched his revolver significantly. 

“You do what I say,” said the sheriff. “I don't 
need no suggestions.” 

So Gus Norman went ahead sullenly with the 
work of tying Dreer. Presently the sheriff spoke 
again. 

“You needn't sink them nooses into the flesh, 
Norman.” 

“Thanks,” and Dreer nodded. 

“And now, if you’ll take the lady's guns, I'll be 
real obliged, Norman. Thanks.” He added, to 
Mary: “You might get careless. I’ve seen it hap¬ 
pen.” 

He sat down cross-legged on the floor; a great 


THE OBSTINATE SHERIFF 


309 


spot of red was growing and spreading around his 
left shoulder. 

“Now, Norman, just cut away my shirt and 
make a bandage for this shoulder of mine. Then 
ride into Windville and send out a buckboard, so 
we can all go in together.” 

“You mean you’re going to trust Dreer to an¬ 
other jail?” 

He added softly: “He’s worth just as much 
dead as he is alive, sheriff.” 

“Listen,” murmured Caswell. “You’re getting 
me real peeved, Norman. In the first place, I don’t 
like the way you say it; second place, I don’t like 
the thing you say. Dreer is going to stay alive till 
the judge hands him the rope. Now, do what I 
say. You can be back here in two hours. I’ll take 
care of ’em in the meanwhile.” 

And Gus Norman, with a black face, obeyed, 
and drew the bandages which they improvised 
hastily around the sheriff’s shoulders. 

A moment later he was on his horse and clattering 
away. 

“So here we are,” murmured Jess Dreer. “Mary, 
could you do me a terrible big favor?” 

She had been sitting with her head bowed in 
her hands, trembling. “Yes,” she murmured. 

“Wonder if you’d be any hand at rolling a ciga¬ 
rette ?” 

“I’ve done them for the boys often. Yes.” 

“Pocket of this shirt is where the makings are.” 

She took out the papers and tobacco. “And one 
thing more. Smile for me, Mary.” 

It was a white caricature of a. smile with which 


3io 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


she obeyed him. She said nothing while she rolled 
the cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lighted 
it. He thanked her with a nod. 

“Are you in a pile of pain, sheriff ?” 

“Not me, Jess. Tm comfortable, well enough. 
Besides, it’s only a couple of hours to wait.” 

“Less’n that. Norman ain’t going to town. He’s 
got his gang and Claney cached away up in the 
hills yonder. He’ll be back with ’em inside an hour 
and a half, or less.” 

“But how can they move me without a buck- 
board? I can’t sit a saddle with this.” 

“It ain’t you they’re worrying about. They’re 
thinking about me. Steady, Mary!” 

“Yes,” she whispered, and set her teeth. 

The sheriff looked from one to the other with 
a frown; then he shook his head. 

“May I ask one thing?” 

“A thousand, Caswell, and welcome.” 

“Where was you and the girl figuring to head 
together ?” 

“I dunno,” said Jess Dreer, as though the thought 
had just come into his head. “What was we figur¬ 
ing on, Mary?” 

She could not speak; but a pitiful ghost of a 
smile came on her face and went out again as she 
looked at him. 

“They ain’t any use of feeling cut up, sheriff. It 
was simply the end of my luck. The old gun went 
back on me.” 

“Went back on you? Jess, that was the neatest 
snapshot I ever seen. There I was standing with 


THE OBSTINATE SHERIFF 311 

the gun in my hand, and yet you heat me to the 
shot” 

“Maybe it looked that. But as a matter of fact 
she hung in the holster. And when I got the gun 
on you at last I had to hurry the shot. A hundredth 
part of a second more—-I’m sorry to say it, Cas¬ 
well—and you’d of been dead as a thousand years 
ago” 

The sheriff moistened his pale lips. 

“I kind of half believe you, Jess. But then, 
wasn’t it luck for you that my shot hit your own 
gun instead of hitting you ?” 

“It wouldn’t of hit me. My gun was two inches 
away from my side. That snap shot of yours 
was traveling wide, Caswell, when it hit my gun. 
No, I figure the luck was with you.” 

The sheriff cautiously raised the back of his hand 
that held the gun and wiped the perspiration from 
his forehead. He shifted his position a little to one 
side, so that he could look at a more favorable 
angle on the girl, but as he did so, forgetfully he 
threw his weight on his left arm. There was no 
muscular reaction, of course, but the bones of the 
arm shoved up against the injured shoulder and 
strained heavily against the bandage. The sheriff, 
white with pain, settled suddenly back in the shadow. 

“That hurt you, Caswell?” 

“Not a bit, Jess. Just a twinge. That’s all.” 

But a moment later he knew that he had belied 
the situation. The strain had loosened the bandage 
at the same time that it opened the raw wound, 
and when the pain subsided a little he was aware 
of something hot running down his side in a steady 


3 X2 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


trickle. He tried to raise his shoulder so that the 
bandage would press again on the wound and cut off 
the bleeding. It was no use. 

With a touch of coldness he realized that an 
hour at least must run before Norman returned, 
and in the meantime, what might not that steady 
flow do to him? It would render him helpless 
as a woman. 

As the smile occurred to him he looked at the 
girl. Ay, more helpless than this girl, certainly, 
who had ridden with the daring of more than most 
men that night. Dreer himself was securely bound. 
But what of the girl? How could he disarm her 
in the same manner? 

“Jess,” he said, “they’s one thing I want to ask.” 

“Fire away, Sheriff,” replied the outlaw, main¬ 
taining his unvarying good nature. 

“I could of had Norman tie the girl, you know.” 

“Sure, I know it.” 

“And if it come to a pinch it’d sort of run agin’ 
nature for me to fight a woman, Jess.” 

“I know that. You’re white enough, Caswell. 

“Well, then, all I asked is that you won’t let 
the girl help you no way to escape.” 

“I’ll promise I won’t take no help from her.” 

“Don’t!” cried Mary Valentine suddenly. “Don’t 
say it, Jess. I tell you, something is happening. 
And he knows it! He knows it!” 

The sheriff grinned feebly at her. 

“I know it, Mary Valentine. But he’s promised.” 

“You tricked it out of him!” 

“You got something to learn, lady,” answered the 
sheriff. “No matter how you get it, Dreer’s word 


THE OBSTINATE SHERIFF 


3i3 


is good as gold. I’m going fast, but mind you, 
Jess, not a finger of help from the girl!” 

“What the devil is the matter?” cried the out¬ 
law. “What’s got into you, Caswell? You look 
like a ghost!” 

“Look!” 

He swayed over and showed a thin pool 01 crim¬ 
son beside him. His smile was ghastly. 

“I busted her open ag’in.” 

Jess Dreer groaned. Then: “Caswell, you fool, 
would you die like this?” 

“I dunno, Jess. Yep, I’d put death under taking 
you. I’ve got you, son, and I’ll die sooner than let 
you go loose.” 

“Let’s dicker, Caswell. Mary, here, will bandage 
you: up so’s you’ll be safe. They ain’t any danger 
if that bleeding can be stopped. You’re safe, and 
you let Mary cut my ropes.” 

The sheriff sighed, and then shook his head. 

“Here I stay,” he said, “living or dead. And 
there you stay, Dreer, until they come for you.” 


CHAPTER XLIV 


SIDE BY SIDE 

A SILENCE fell between them; and the bright, 
** desperate, hopeful eyes of Mary Valentine 
went from one to the other. She had risen to her 

feet. 

The head of the sheriff sagged; he jerked it 
straight again with a mighty effort. 

“Your oath, Dreer!” he said hoarsely^. 

“Yes. I intend to stay by it. I’ll take no help 
from her. But if you won’t make an exchange, 
then Mary’ll fix you up, anyway. Mary, tie up 
his shoulder again, Caswell, you’re going under!” 

The sheriff turned his shadowed eyes upon the girl 
with a last appeal. 

“Will youi do that?” he asked. 

“And let Jess die?” said the girl. “Trade you 
for him?” 

“There’s no question of a trade,” broke in Dreer. 
“I’m a goner, anyway. There’s no chance for me 
to get loose without the use of my hands or my 
feet, and without your help. There’s no question 
of an exchange. It’s only a matter of saving the 
sheriff.” 

“If he drops,” said the girl, very white of face, 
“then you can try to get away. As long as he 
has his senses and that gun, you haven’t a ghost of 
hope. I won’t raise a hand for him, Jess.” 

“Caswell, won’t you talk to her?” 


SIDE B Y SIDE 


3i5 

“Fve never begged for bread or money,” said the 
dauntless sheriff. “And I won’t start now begging 
for my life.” 

“Then I command you, Mary. D’you hear me ? 
I command you to give Caswell a hand.” 

“I won’t do it, Jess. That’s flat.” 

“Ain’t you got a drop of mercy in your body, 
girl?” 

“Not for your enemies, Jess. Not a drop!” 

“I’ll tell you a thing I never thought to talk 
about. It was Caswell that gave me the watch 
spring that gave me the chance to break away from 
the jail. He saved my life once. I got a life that 
I owe to him. He wouldn’t let the dogs take me. 
He took his own chance. And now he’s got me in 
a fair-and-square fight, the first time any man on 
earth ever did. Mary, for Heaven’s sake be a 
woman. Go help him!” 

“You can break my heart, Jess, but you can’t 
budge me with your talk. You’re more to me 
than he is!” 

“It’s a question of what’s right, not one man 
agin’ another. Girl, I tell you he’s always played 
fair on the trail. He’s never once used a dirty trick 
agin’ me!” 

“No,” she said faintly. “I won’t raise a hand.’ f 

Jess Dreer groaned, for the sheriff, the gun fall¬ 
ing from his hand, lurched suddenly sidewise and 
lay on the floor. There was a hoarse cry of satis¬ 
faction from Mary. She ran to Jess, whipping 
out and opening her pocketknife as she came. 

He stopped her with a shout. 

“Keep off! If you touch the ropes, Mary, I swear 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


316 

I won’t stir after my hands are free. I won’t stir. 
He has my word, Mary, and my word stays good, 
whether he lives or dies!” 

“You’re mad, Jess. It’s your chance. Our chance 
together. Oh, Jess, is your word worth more to 
you than I am?” 

She was on her knees, imploring him, wet-eyed. 
And the face of Jess Dreer turned gray with pain. 

“Aye,” he said slowly, at length. “Worth more 
to me than all the men in the world and all the 
women. I’ve got myself the name of a murderer 
and a robber, girl. What have I got left except 
my own honor?” 

“Who knows it? Who gives you credit for it? 
Who in the wide world would believe what you’re 
doing now?” 

“Me and God know it,” said the outlaw quietly. 

She changed her tactics swiftly. 

“Are you going to give up like a woman, Jess? 
Aren’t you going to make one try for your life? 
Aren’t you going to fight? Aren’t you going to use 
your own strength, even if you won’t let me help?” 

“Tear off the old bandage and put a new one 
on Caswell and I shall.” 

“What if he comes back to life? What if he 
comes out of his faint?” 

“We’ll risk it.” 

She obeyed him, then, with frantic haste, first cast¬ 
ing one glance through the door, and seeing no sign 
of horsemen sweeping down the long hillsides. 
Seconds were worth hours now. The old bandage 
was ripped away under her knife. She tore off her 
own outer shirt; and, after tearing it to strips and 


SIDE BY SIDE 


317 

knotting them together, she managed to make the 
bandage strong and firm, and the welling of the 
flow ceased. The sheriff still breathed, though 
faintly. 

“Jess, now yourself!” 

But he was already at work. He had planned 
it swiftly while she worked over the sheriff. Had 
there been a single cutting instrument in the cabin, 
so much as a blunt-edged mud scraper at the door, 
he could have in time frayed the ropes that held 
him. But there was nothing he could use. His own 
knife was in his pocket—but how could he reach it 
without the use of Mary’s hands? 

If there was no steel to cut the ropes, there was 
at least the fire. But how to reach it? He had 
no use of his hands to get out the coals, even if 
the few sticks in the flimsy old stove had not 
already burned away to ashes. 

He reached his decision at last. Squirming across 
the floor, he planted his shoulders, swung up his 
legs, and with one strong thrust of his feet brought 
down the old stove in a clattering ruin. 

A faint smoke went up from the fragments. 

He scattered the iron parts, still using his bound 
feet, for his hands were tied together before him 
and the elbows were made fast against his sides. The 
iron was knocked away, but now there was not a 
trace of a coal. He swayed to his knees and 
searched, with Mary leaning beside him, desperately 
questioning him as to his purpose, and getting no 
answer. And then he found it—two small, swiftly 
darkening bits of wood coal. He blew on them, 
and the red returned. 


318 THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

Yet this alone was not enough. He must have 
fuel. With terrible labor he worked across to the 
sheriff, tore open his coat, and drew out a packet of 
letters and loose papers with his teeth. Then, with 
this prize in his mouth, back to the coals. Over 
them he piled the papers, and then began to blow. 

But it seemed that the contact with the cold 
paper had completely taken the life from the coals. 
He blew, but there was no answering upward trickle 
of smoke. He blew again, and now a faint, 
pungent odor came to his nostrils. He blessed it 
with a cry, and in a moment the paper blackened, 
curled back and a tongue of flame went up. Over 
the papers, now, he scraped with his feet the 
remnant of the wood. The loose ends, in turn, 
took the blaze and crackled. 

That done, he got again to his knees and held 
his bound hands over the point of the flame If 
the ropes had held them farther apart, it would 
have been a simple matter to burn the ropes away, 
but the wrists were hardly an inch apart, and to 
ignite the cords he had to sear his own flesh. 

And there was Mary Valentine, on her knees 
beside him; her teeth were set when his teeth set; 
her head went back in agony when he groaned, 
and a horrible, sickening odor of burned flesh rose 
to them. And then—the cords caught fire! Slowly 
—very slowly. It was maddening to see them 
blacken, char, before they caught the yellow flame. 
But at length they were afire. He strained his 
wrists. One cord parted with a faint snap. 

Mary Valentine cried out hysterically with joy. 


.SIDE BY SIDE 


319 

Then a voice called from the corner of the cabin. 

“Dreer! Jess Dreer!” 

They turned. The sheriff had regained his senses. 
He sat with his back braced crookedly against the 
wall, an expression of half-drunken determination 
and agony on his face, and the revolver in his hand. 

“I’ve seen you, Dreer, and I can’t stop you. But 
the law says—alive or dead—and dead you shall be!” 

He raised the gun, grinned with effort as he 
deliberately sighted it; and then crumpled again on 
the floor. 

The last of the cords parted, and Jess Dreer 
shook away the smoking fragments. 

“But they’re coming, Jess!” cried the girl at the 
door. “They’re coming fast. Look!” 

Far off, streaming down the hillside, he saw 
the cavalcade. But they came leisurely; what call 
was there for hurry? 

“First, Caswell.” 

He took the sheriff under his arms—he could 
feel the slow heartbeat as he did it—and bore 
him through the door. Then he swung into the 
saddle at the same time that the spreading fire in 
the shack ran up the wall with a great crackling. 
The smoke and the flame had been a signal to the 
posse. It came now on the dead run. He could 
tell even at a distance of a mile and a half. 

“Is your horse good for anything?” 

“A little. He was played out, but he’s tough as 
leather.” 

“Then ride on first; I’ll drop behind a little and 
keep ’em off if they should press us.” 

“Not in a thousand years. Jess. Besides, the 


3 20 


THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 


cowards won’t dare to press Jess Dreer on an open 
trail. I know them!” 

He answered her with a smile. 

“How far do you go on this trail, lady?” 

“How far do you think, Jess Dreer?” 

“To the end of the world, I reckon.” 

“We won’t argue the point,” said Mary. 

And they cut up the slope at a sharp gallop, 
and dipped over the rim, side by side. 


THE END. 





























































